Love Lost
by Countess of Cobert
Summary: This is the promised sequel to Your Wish is My Command. Following the lives of ALL the upstairs characters through series two, but with the edition of little Edward William Crawley, what will stay the same, and what will change?
1. November 1916

AN: The long awaited sequel!

This is different to anything I've ever done in the fact that all upstairs characters have a clear plot line, it's not just Cobert, although, never fear they are very much the central piece.

The story will follow series 2, and hopes to show how little Edward William Crawley would have influenced the lives and choices of those around him. EVERY character's story line changes from that of canon at some point, for some you will have to wait longer than others though!

Updates will be weekly, on Saturdays, rather than twice weekly for the moment.

I really want to hear your thoughts because, well, much of this is new ground for me! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **November 1916**.

Cora marvels, her eyes glassy, at the little boy standing proudly before her in the nursery, his father's army hat pressed upon his head dressed in his Sunday best, all ready to be page boy for that afternoons wedding.

Edward was a month away from being two. He was walking, just about, and had formed his first full sentence only a few moments before. Cora had raced down the stairs at a rate she didn't think was possible, bursting into the dining room and dragging Robert from his breakfast. She refused to tell him why, and now standing in the nursery, Robert by her side she marvels. He'd refused to repeat the sentence for Robert, a cheeky grin on his face, before he'd pointed at Robert's hat, a pout masking his features. Robert had obeyed, placing the cap on Edward's curls before calmly asking Edward to repeat the phrase that had electrified Cora.

"I love Mama." So, it wasn't a very long sentence but it was quite the sweetest thing that had ever been spoken in these four walls of the nursery room by a twenty-two month old.

She crouches down before him as he lowers himself to the ground, his fingers reaching for the wooden bricks upon the floor. He bangs them together as was his favourite custom before throwing them to Cora and laughing when she doesn't catch them. Robert stays behind her, kneeling, his knees pressing gently against her back. It comforts her, and she tilts her head, finding his gaze while Edward shuffles across the floor to find the next game to play.

It had been a habit of hers for months, coming to the nursery and sitting and playing with Edward, it took her mind off the war and the young lives being lost everyday. It allowed her to forget what thousands of women were feeling across the world, feelings she'd experienced when Robert had been fighting. She thanked heaven for Edward every day, not just because he was a miracle and Robert's heir but because he'd been born when he had; if he'd been born at anytime between the girls he would have had to fight and it was that more than anything that drove Cora to spending so much time with him.

"Mama, I love wo, but pway." The tears seem to slide onto her cheeks before she knows what's happening, it seemed little Edward had been keeping all the words he'd learnt saved up in a little bank for him to spill all at once. Robert flops down beside her, his lips grazing over her neck and ear. Edward watches seemingly bemused before tossing a brick at his parents again.

"Pway." They chuckle together at their delightful son before falling flat onto the floor before him. Robert leans on one elbow while Cora presses her stomach to the floor and crosses her ankles behind her.

"I will play Edward, if you give me a kiss." He leans forward and grabs her cheeks, as is always his custom when she asks for a kiss before pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Now, pway." Robert chuckles and Cora can't help but roll her eyes as her husband merrily exclaims that Edward is as stubborn as his mother.

They toss and turn the bricks between them, Edward enjoying the game of trying to build a tower as high as he can, he does exceptionally well before the tower topples to the floor.

It's in this moment of the tower toppling, the bricks crashing onto the floor, that Robert leans into his wife and whispers almost silently in her ear.

"Am I allowed to demand kisses from you, as you demand them from Edward?" A blush warms her cheeks almost immediately before she tilts her face to his, pressing her lips to his own. Even now, with four children and over twenty-six years of marriage the sensation of his lips on hers never fails to delight her, send shivers up her spine as though she was nineteen all over again.

"No kiss kiss. Pway." She breaks her lips from Robert's as Edward tugs at her hair, a Robert frown crinkling on his tiny forehead.

* * *

Matthew knows what she's trying to say, he can see it, but he couldn't, he absolutely couldn't put words into her mouth, ask if it was her love she was trying to express not with a decision already made, a wedding that afternoon. He reluctantly lets his mind wander back to that time on the station all those months ago when she had handed him the toy dog; her sincerity, even perhaps love radiating from her eyes too much to bear, he'd been relieved the train had pulled up and he'd been able to escape. He had to forget her, he absolutely had too. But her tall form is scratched into his mind forever to be remembered. And he knows he will remember it, that's been his problem, he just can't seem to forget it.

She hurt him, my she hurt him so very much, but the joy of being with her was hard to surpass. It was a joy that seemed to resurrect itself in dreams and in the worst moments on the field, when surrounded by dead men and rotting flesh that was the image that came to mind; Downton and Mary, and then only through a surge of guilt did Lavinia appear. And that hurt him more than anything, that he couldn't forget her when she had clearly moved passed that moment. He'd thought by making Lavinia a part of his life, the future, his future, that might change, but it hadn't, he'd just ended up feeling more guilty, dragging another desirable, sensible, lovely woman into his clutches.

"Matthew, I am sorry for what happened." He doesn't look at her, he can't, he absolutely can't accept her apology.

"I'm not sure it makes much difference now. None of us could have wanted Edward not to exist, he's a dear dear boy."

"This isn't about Edward anymore Matthew. Don't you see? This is about us, you and I." He can hear the tears and he looks up to see them just before she shakes them away.

"Mary, this is a little late. Far too late in fact, I don't know what got this idea into your head. But I'm not a free man anymore. I'm engaged to be married this afternoon. That's the long and the short of it."

"Not if you love me." And just like that he has to close his eyes, fight against is own anger. The pain he knows he's just about to cause. But it was the only way, a clean break.

"That wasn't enough for you two years ago though, was it?" He turns before he can see her face, before he takes her in his arms to stem the streaming tears. She pretends to be strong but he knows she's weak particularly in matters such as these.

He enters the house and brushes straight passed his mother and upstairs desperate for an hour to himself, an hour to try and finally, finally drown Mary from his thoughts.

* * *

Edith sprung down from the tractor, eager for the next job Mr Drake had for her to do. For the first time in years, in fact, ever, she felt wanted, needed and not like the spare part in a great household.

"Shouldn't you be getting back milady. Wedding to attend an' all." Edith swallows, the last weeks final wedding preparations swirling in her mind. Matthew might not be the heir any longer but the wedding was going to be a grand affair, even in the middle of war. Some things had been cut, the guest list for example was very small: everyone at Downton and Lavinia's father were the only attendees, the servants had been given an open ended invitation, they didn't have to come. Somewhat surprisingly Carson had said he would, rather a shock seeing as he was an avid Mary supporter and couldn't be glad at the thought of the love of Mary's life marrying another woman. Edith couldn't help but think he was going as moral support for Mary.

"I suppose I should, what time would you like me to come in the morning?"

"Well, I mean as early as possible really. But won't people start talking milady."

"Call me Edith please. And quite honestly I don't care if they start talking." She stares intently at Mr Drake and she's not sure if it's the alcohol swirling in her bloodstream, or just the thought of a life that isn't Downton, but she finds herself leaning in towards him and even more surprising he's willing. His lips press to hers in a way that Edith imagined looked like how she had seen her father kiss her mother when he thought nobody was looking. It all ends too quickly and before she knows what's happening she's back on her bicycle, Mr Drake waving her off.

* * *

She's mechanical as she stands in the church and turns her head to see the bride entering the church, she tries desperately to keep her eyes fixed on Lavinia, on all the things she knows about the dress she's wearing: the yards of fabric, detail of the jewels, who they are all from but she can't. She'd spent months planning Matthew's wedding while he'd been at war, but it had been bitter sweet. It was Matthew's wedding but not hers. Not theirs. Her head slips back around to the front of the church, just where she didn't want it to be. He stands proudly, his back to his bride. His blonde hair lays combed on his head but not so combed it doesn't look natural. He'd spent the morning at Eryholme, the house on the border of Downton's land had been gifted by her mother, an exchange that had taken place back when Edward was born. Now, it was to be Matthew and Lavinia's home. Mary had spent a few days there, touring the rooms and discussing with Lavinia the best ways to have them done up. It was stupid really, Lavinia was the loveliest person she'd ever met, and she deserves her happiness but Mary is selfish, she knows she is, she was fully content for Lavinia to find happiness as long as it wasn't with Matthew.

But, well, here she was second row from the front with a bright smile on her face watching as the groom finally turned to look at his bride. Except it wasn't on Lavinia that Matthew's eyes first fall as he turns, they fall on her. She gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile and dips her head, her silent apology for the morning, the only one she can give. It wasn't her choice, it was theirs, they were here now and if there was one thing that needed to be avoided it was a scandal, she had seen enough of those already. It feels like an age before his eyes drop from hers, her heart rate doesn't slow until the point in the service when the vicar asks for any objections. At that moment it begins to do a canter.

Her grandmother's face steals into her vision, her lips prim, eyes questioning, her stick gesturing forwards, towards the waiting couple. Mary shakes her head and the elderly vicar seemingly notes this.

"Lady Mary, Lady Grantham do either of you have something you wish to say?" All eyes swivel in their direction but Mary holds her gaze, the only way she knows to not appear to be lying.

"Why would we possibly have anything to say Mr Travis? My stick was merely caught on my dress and I was signalling for Lady Mary to reach down and remove it." Mary smiles affectionately at the gazes, her heart plummeting briefly as her mother turns and gives that look she gives to little baby Edward. She narrows her eyes, hating the pity, hating the looks, the whispers. It made her want to sink into the earth, or spend all her time with Lavinia, she might be the chosen one, but she didn't pity Mary, they'd become firm friends. Mary knew in her own heart that she would have gone to Matthew earlier than that morning if the woman he'd chosen had been anyone but Lavinia. But she knows that they are well suited and Matthew loves Lavinia. He might love her too, but he did also love Lavinia. So, she'd held back, only following up Anna's advice from months ago that morning, and even then she hadn't said the words, she hadn't admitted she loved him. It was her own loss, her own failure. Time had closed around them and now she must move on.

* * *

She stood staring at the man before her, two days after Matthew's wedding and Mary's heartbreak she was now about to break another's heart just as Matthew had Mary's. Despite her warning he'd said it anyway. Her baggage in hand he'd said it. Always the loyal servant, too loyal in fact, at least to her, and he'd said it. It wasn't really that it changed anything, she'd known already, she'd known for some time. But somehow, with him saying it out loud it changed everything, if he was called up to fight she'd know without a shadow of a doubt that it was her that was getting him through and if something happened to him she knew she'd blame herself for not being able to return that affection and thus was putting him in danger or even ending his life.

"Branson, Tom I think..."

"It's alright. I understand, I'll leave."

"No, no. It's only I'm not-"

"In love with me. I know."

"It's not even that really, I'm just not quite ready yet, for the real world, I've been hidden away and protected, and I am aware of that. Perhaps after this training I'll be more in tune with what I want from life?" She stares at him, his eyes close and reopen as he seemingly reassesses his situation.

"You won't tell your father?"

"No, I wouldn't want for you to lose your job because of feelings out of your control." He seems to smile at that, or at least slightly. The corners of his mouth twitch up, heading towards the trademark grin the Branson she liked so much always wore.

"At least you believe them to be out of my control, I'm sure your father would believe it is possible for me to have feelings for someone so above my station in life." Sybil laughs at that, her face tilted so she may peer more easily at him from beneath her hat, she wouldn't deny that he was far more attractive than any other man she'd ever met, but then he had the toned muscles of a man that worked, not one that flounced around all day with servants to do his work.

"He once thought it wasn't possible to fall in love with an American, being English. And look where that got him."

"Yes, but I would say that was a one in a million chance."

"And who says you can't be my one in a million? As my mother was my father's?" She doesn't even realise the words have left her mouth but staring up at him, her last link with home she can't help but realise how much she'll miss their political discussions, or the stories Anna tells her that 'Mr Branson has been telling us.' It wasn't just her parents and her siblings she was leaving behind, it was the familiarity, the gossip and included in that were the servants, they were part of an almost extended family.

* * *

Lavinia was more than pleased the wedding was over and she and Matthew were finally alone in their own house and had miraculously avoided visitors for two days. When she'd decided to have the wedding at the Abbey it had seemed like a marvellous idea, and indeed it had been very beautiful but that moment in the church wouldn't quite leave her mind even now; Matthew having uttered his love to her at least a dozen times. She splashes some more water on her face before returning to the bedroom expecting her maid. What she instead finds is Matthew sitting upon the bed, still in his pyjamas with a breakfast tray beside him.

"I thought we could have breakfast up here, together." She wanders over to him and standing before him rests her hands against his shoulders. Studying his face, trying once more to remember every line. Not that she needed to, she knew it already.

"Do you really have to go back tomorrow?"

"I do. I know it's a short honeymoon. But when the war finishes I promise we will go away." She leans forward to kiss him, her knee sliding onto the bed by his leg, but he stops her, kissing her forehead gently and pushing her leg back to the floor. "I've brought breakfast. I'd rather it didn't get cold as it's the best food I'll have in months."

Lavinia can't help but feel slightly rejected. Yes, he was fighting a war that he was returning to the following day, but she thought he'd have a more pleasant reaction to her attentions and would certainly prefer them above food. Her mind briefly wonders if he would have turned Mary down but she turns it away. She was his wife, not Mary. Besides the woman was kind enough and Matthew had readily assured her that whatever might have happened before Edward was born was long buried. For Mary at least she knew that was true but the way Matthew had glanced at her during the wedding ceremony hadn't gone unnoticed by Lavinia, nor had the feeling in her gut that told her Matthew wasn't enjoying being married as much as he should. She passed it off as the war eating away at his mind, and indeed he rarely slept without a nightmare but she did wonder if that wasn't all he thought of, she was sure that perhaps Mary ate away at his thoughts just as much, or the pain of rejection did anyway. Matthew loved her, but the question was whether she would be able to make him forget the heartbreak he'd received at the hands of Mary. As for Mary herself Lavinia rather liked her and she'd been an excellent help with the house and wedding. It was their differences in personality that made them get on so well and Lavinia hoped they would become firm friends if nothing else.

"Do I displease you, in bed?" She voices the question no more above a whisper her eyes resting on his shirt. Too embarrassed really to keep her gaze on his. She had found the whole experience rather pleasant, in fact, she craved it, but she wasn't sure Matthew did. He seemed far away sometimes when they had been together and like a lot of things in the last few days, that made her feel uneasy about herself and their future.

"Why on earth would you say that?" He tilts her chin up to face him.

"Well, because I'm never sure if you're enjoying it."

"And I imagine I only look like that because I'm worrying I'm never going to be good enough for you." He kisses her gently on the nose before pulling her down to sit on his lap. He seems as though he's about to kiss her when his thoughts wander once more to the food and he turns his head that way.

* * *

Robert had half dragged Cora into the rose garden. He'd sat them in their favourite seat beneath the rose she'd asked to be planted when the girls were still very small, it was her favourite and Robert had since placed a bench before them. He blinks a few times as she stares up at him, the letter in his pocket seemingly burning a hole. He reluctantly lifts his hand there and pulls the letter from where it had sat since breakfast. He had quickly slipped it away earlier turning instead to enjoy the cake Sybil had baked for her last morning at home- yes, his youngest daughter had been taking cooking lessons and deep down he was awfully proud of her. But it hadn't changed the letter that was scorching a hole in his pocket, the letter he thought he'd never see. The letter that will rip Cora's life in two. He'd wanted to wait and tell her the following day, but he knew he couldn't.

Yet, sitting next to her, her small hand resting on his thigh he debates the situation yet again. He is shaking slightly from the nerves and he can't help wondering if he can turn that feeling into anything else. Edward he knew was his only hope for the coming months, he would be the only thing that would allow Cora to get through this.

"I had a letter this morning." He uncurls the already crumpled page and smooths it on his knee. He doesn't dare look at her instead he just stares at the loops of lettering on the page, the words scribed diligently in black ink. Words that sealed his fate. "From the war office. It's all been arranged by Haig."

"What has been arranged darling, they can't, I mean they said..." He hears the tears, he doesn't need to look up, he can hear them, picture them; the glassy shade, a single tear threatening at the corners.

"It seems they do. Want me that is...after all, they changed their mind." Her hand drops from his lap and he finally looks up, taking her hand slowly in his. She stares at her lap now, to hide her tears. She'd never done that the first time, when he'd gone to war before, they'd both expected it and she'd been so terribly brave even though he knew, and she had told him since, that the whole thing had almost torn her apart. But not this time, her refusal to be brave told him all he needed to know. He might leave and never come back, it was all down to luck, fate, but the Cora he knew was never really to return- him being gone was going to be enough to tear her to shreds.

"How can they just change their minds like that? How is that fa-" He cuts her off with a finger to her lips before pressing his own there, pulling her to him. Talking, discussing something they can't change isn't going to get them anywhere, he knows that. Even if, goodness knows he wishes it wasn't happening. He'd been so relieved back when Edward was born to sit around and admire his little baby boy, knowing he'd get to see all of his childhood, but, that had been taken away just as it had been with the girls, particularly Sybil and that was why he didn't know her, understand her quite as well as Edith and Mary. He didn't want that happening with Edward, not his one and only son; the tiny boy who was to be the next earl. But alas, his card had been drawn. His fate sealed.

He returns his attention to Cora, and gently stroking her cheek leans into kiss her once more. It's time to embrace the time they have left together, the last few weeks. Cora doesn't hesitate, Robert knew she wouldn't that's why they had to be away from Edward. Her fingers curl into his hair, rubbing at his scalp; her tongue seems to lash violently, desperately, and as he always does he loses himself there, with her.


	2. April 1917

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. They mean twice as much as usual I can assure you.

To DowntonFan, the guest who reviewed. I'm pleased, so very pleased you were looking forward to another of my stories, and I fully appreciate what you mean about authors writing lots of characters. But, I wanted to give it a try, and honestly, it was the only way I saw the complexity of Edward's relationship with each member of his family, and the vastly different plots of the individuals during the war coming together.

And to the Guest who raised concerned for the MM storyline. It will I PROMISE work out for them in the end, I just wanted to have a little play in the middle, which I feel I'm entitled to do! I wanted to reassure you, you weren't the only one, but I couldn't message you my assurance, so I hope this helps.

* * *

 **April/May 1917.**

Her training had been vigorous but she was back, she had been for a month now. But trying to juggle the home life her mother was desperate for her to keep going and her work, was already proving difficult. She knew her mother was going through a hard time. It had been confirmed that her father was to go to a meeting of his regiment later that day and it was assumed he would be given the date of his departure. Sybil herself didn't know what to think, William and Molesley had also been called up and she felt odd watching her father, as perfectly healthy as he was, only having a uniform because he was the Lord Lieutenant for the county despite the fact he wasn't fighting. But on the other hand she felt a need for him to stay at home to keep the family together. Mary was suffering even if she didn't say it and worrying for her father as well as Matthew. And really, she knew he was too old. She'd seen the injuries that young fit men had acquired and she knew her father wasn't that fit, his lifestyle didn't provide it.

Her thoughts return to Barrow who stands diligently the other side of Mr Courtenay murmuring encouragement. She returns to her task while her thoughts think of the man before her, his future, or lack of. His condition prevented him ever having a real life again and Barrow and herself had discussed the problems with Dr Clarkson's decision to send him away. The man was mentally as well as physically unstable but unfortunately the demands of the hospital and the beds was too great, they could see that and understand that and although Dr Clarkson had accused them of being sentimental she couldn't agree. The man couldn't see he therefore had to trust absolutely the people he was surrounded by; he did here but would he where he was going? She didn't know and she was worried for him. But words had fallen on deaf ears in the doctors quarters.

She collides straight into Branson as as hurries back to the ward ready for her next trail.

"I've brought a basket of food your mother had Mrs Patmore make."

"What doesn't she understand, I don't have time for this."

"She's worried about you. You are her daughter. And well, she's going through a tough time." Sybil would have used have ignored such a private comment about a member of her family by a member of the staff but with Branson she'd fallen into the habit of being honest. Telling him about her family.

"I don't doubt that. But why won't she just spend time with Papa rather than fussing over me?" Branson doesn't have an answer for that after all nobody could read her mind. Except, Sybil thinks reluctantly, her father, he seemed to know everything her mother was thinking.

"She wants you to come for dinner tonight. Since your father is off to find out his fate. I think she wanted some company."

"I'd agreed to do a shift tonight."

"Can you not switch with another nurse and do double tomorrow?"

"You sound as though you're on her side. Yet, I thought you'd be on mine." She swings around a strange anger consuming her, he loved her didn't he, then why was he defending her mother?

"I am on your side. But you must see, you haven't had a break in weeks."

"I don't want a break."

"Perhaps not, and I don't doubt that. But, if you carry on like this you'll make yourself unwell and then you'll be no use to these people you have dedicated your time to looking after." She can't help but see the reasoning of his argument but oh how she hates being beaten. She snatches the basket of food from his grasp and heads for the door, momentarily turning back.

"Tell her I'll be there for dinner but that this can't happen all the time. There's no way I can go back to the life I had before. Not now." She doesn't see the smile that spreads across his face, the happiness that dances there.

* * *

Edith rushes for the nursery for no other reason than to calm her nerves, and anger, to push away the hurt. Edward was sure to be a comfort, he always was. The letter remains scrunched in her hand, tears threatening to be hot on her cheeks as well as in her eyes. She couldn't help but think the note that had obviously been hurriedly scribbled by Mrs Drake was due to the kiss in the barn the previous night, she'd obviously seen.

It had been going on for months, ever since that first kiss the day of Matthew's wedding she and Mr Drake had seemed to not be able to quite resist keep trying it again. She knew it was wrong, not only was he well beneath her, but he was unavailable; married. Yet, she found herself getting attached, not only to the job and having a purpose but to the freedom it offered, my she'd been kissing a man. She'd grown up surrounded by chaperones her mother always muttering about modesty. And now, well now, she had none of it. No freedom, no purpose and that was all she seemed to want.

Edward sits on the floor amongst a stack of rather old looking books and his bricks. His crayons lay abandoned to one side and a scribbled drawing on the sheet beside it. He turns at her presence and jumps to his feet.

"'Dith. Look." He takes her hand in his own and pulls her towards where he had been sat, sitting amongst the books again. He opens the top one and finds the page he had earlier. He points at the illustration and then his crayons. "Dwar." Edith obediently picks up the crayon and begins gently sketching the illustration Edward had picked out. He watches fully captivated for some time as she does so and Edith marvels at how much better Edward's relationships are likely to be with her sisters than hers ever were; despite, if not because of, the age gap. They had sworn to protect him, the three of them, since the moment they'd laid eyes on him.

As she continues to draw she can't help but wonder at what will happen to Edward when their father leaves for war, in what could be any number of days. The meeting tonight was supposedly to plan that event. Edith worried as much for little Edward as she did for her mother. Edward had grown close to both their parents and Edith knew, from the bits she could remember of before, that her Mama was not going to cope well with Papa being away and that was going to have a detrimental effect on Edward.

"I want Mama." Edward's little face is a little pout and Edith chuckles running her fingers through the beautiful ringlets that her mother refused to have cut.

"I don't know where she is Edward."

"She not come." Edith herself now furrows her brow. Mama hadn't been to visit him yet, that was unusual. Usually she spent all the time Papa was having breakfast with him, and then some more on top of that, sometimes until luncheon.

"She'll be here soon I'm sure."

"I want her now." He scrambles to his feet and heads for the door. Edith struggles to her feet, when he does in fact venture in the correct direction for her parents bedroom. It at that moment it occurs to her, Papa had mentioned at breakfast his intention to spend the morning with Mama and if Mama hadn't visited Edward that meant they were together and-

Her thoughts are broken by a banging in front of her, little Edward has his hands, palms flat against the door to his parents room. Hitting as hard as he can.

"Mama! Mama!" Edith lifts him from his post into her arms.

"Sshh Edward. Mama might still be asleep. She's tired at the minute. How about we go play the games you usually play with Mama until she comes?" Edward meekly nods his head and with one last glance at the door behind them lets Edith carry him back to the nursery.

* * *

Lavinia sat opposite her, tea cup in hand, the ring Matthew had placed on her hand glistening in a far too traumatising fashion in the sun. It was odd she realised that she was sat before a woman that just like her, likely produced Matthew's picture every night and prayed for his safe return. It was strange to think that society would deem it wrong if they knew Mary did so, pining after another woman's husband. But somehow, she couldn't help herself. She couldn't seem to clear him from her mind. Even after the harsh, hurtful words he'd spoken that last time they'd been alone. When she'd gone to tell him she loved him, and then hadn't. The words he'd spoken had reopened a two year old wound. It throbbed and ached yet she couldn't not think of him, pray for him. Do everything she could to improve his life, which rather selfishly was why she was now sat opposite his wife.

"Matthew has written to say that he gets some leave, for some time, in July and before that for two days next week. He's touring the country, some recruitment thing, with a general."

"And he'll have time to visit?"

"I looks like it, in July and obviously this coming weekend. Perhaps we might be able to catch a few days to ourselves." Mary is pleased she raises her cup to her mouth at that point if only to disguise the look of horror that she knows marks her face. Matthew with another woman seems to plague her thoughts and again she feels that wash of guilt. Not only was Lavinia a lovely woman but she had done much worse, taking to bed a Turkish diplomat she'd only known a day. The said diplomat that had encroached on the back of her mind far more than her mother's impeding baby when Matthew had proposed.

"Perhaps we could organise an event as well, while he's at Downton?"

"If your mother is up to it, maybe." Mary closes her eyes at those words and her mother all those years before flashes across her memory. She dearly wished that he mother had more in her life, a purpose like Sybil of Isobel, if only to get her through the months that were coming. Her mother knew of course, she'd done it before, and this time she had little darling Edward but she'd had Sybil the first time and that hadn't made too much difference. She'd still cried a lot, Mary knew that. And her father was older this time. More fragile, less fit. Anything could happen. Mary supposed that her worry was heightened by her own understanding of worry. She thought of Matthew all the time, and she didn't know him half as well as Mama knew Papa, even if she did love him in the same way. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"You're right. It's weird I've never been too close with Mama but if something happens to Papa I know that she'll never be herself again and I dot really know what I'd do, if I lost them both." She surprised to find tears welling in her eyes and places the glass back on the table, her vision going foggy, her hands shaking. She never cried, not in front of people anyway. But the war, her own tattered life and the shreds she could feel looming over the horizon seemed to catch up on her in that moment, and sat opposite the woman who had what she wanted, she dissolved into tears.

* * *

Robert uncurls himself from her side, they'd been together all afternoon, even forgoing getting up to see Edward but now he had to get ready for his dinner, and his fate. Her fingers graze over his chest and down his arm to his fingers and she squeezes them lightly.

"Stay, just a little while longer." She shuffles a little closer, hooking one leg over his and kissing his neck softly.

"It won't delay my fate Cora. I'm better going, and finding out and then I can come home and curl up with you again." She smiles briefly at that, but doesn't move any further away from him. "Besides, you ought to go and see Edward, he spent some time banging on the door earlier." She chuckles at that, her nose rubbing at his neck.

"You're more appealing at this moment."

"That shall keep me warm as I set off to find out my fate." He slips from the bed but her hand still tugs at his arm.

"Kiss me." He turns briefly back around and kisses her gently on the lips. He darts from the bed after that not being able to bear the tears that are glistening in her eyes, the hurt that he was causing.

The ride to the dinner takes far longer than he likes and his thoughts jump from Cora to Edward and then the front line and back again. He can't help but feel like his days with his family are limited. Edward was only a toddler and yet Robert was convinced he was going to be snatched of his father, and therefore ultimately his mother. But somehow he couldn't see him surviving. It was a dreadful thing to think, he knew that, but it had been tough the first time when he'd been a man in his prime, now he was, quite frankly, old.

He gets ushered into the room and almost forced to take a glass of scotch- not that he would have avoided it in his present state of mind. He circles around the room pleasantly but never mentioning the questions that burn upon his mind, preferring to talk of mundane topics or the latest headlines. But, however much he tries to avoid it, dinner comes around eventually and they all get closed to attention. Army ways were it seemed, already creeping in. Encroaching, taking away his life, and sucking at Cora's.

"I'd like to thank you all very much for coming. As you're all aware we have some important matters to discuss and decisions to come to." Robert reaches for his wine glass, his headache pounding with twice the strength it was before. Cora flashes once more across his mind before he feels his eyes flutter closed, everything going black.

* * *

Cora can't seem to do anything but think about where Robert might be, what he might be thinking. Even Sybil being at the table, for the first time in weeks doesn't seem to distract her mind. She distantly notes that Mrs Patmore had decided to make Cora's favourite dinner. But still, it made no difference and it panicked her so much. She'd grown accustomed, when Robert had been away before, to keep focused and indulge heavily in conversation at dinners and now, when he wasn't even gone yet, she couldn't distract herself. Her head throbbed with thoughts of him and only him. She'd even had Edward come and join them at dinner, he was sat beside her in his little high chair and she was feeding him his dinner while she ate her own, but still her thoughts wouldn't leave Robert.

She doesn't realise everyone has stood from the table until Edward gently reaches up and touches her face.

"Lift Mama." She lifts him from his confines but doesn't let him go, instead hugging him carefully to her hip.

"Shall we go play Edward. Bricks maybe?" He nods his head vigorously.

"Where were you?" She stares at him blankly for a minute thinking that he's asking about the thoughts she's been so lost in, but then she remembers the morning, lazing in bed all day with Robert and then poor Edward banging on the door and calling out for her. She'd stared at Robert blankly quickly pulling the covers over them in case Edward entered but Edith had saved them both causing Robert to promptly laugh and pull her back towards him, mumbling into her hair that her blush was highly delightful. She blushed at the memory now and nuzzles her nose against Edward's hair.

"I was busy with your Papa. I'm sorry my cherub. But, we shall make it up now, with lots of play? Yes?" He doesn't reply verbally just reaches over and kisses her forehead.

Some time later; when they'd played long into the night and Cora had received a good few looks from the nanny, whom she'd since sent to bed, Edward finally crawls into his cot and demands a story. Cora sits with her back to the door, on the end of his bed as she begins to read his favourite story. She watches as Edwards eyes drift quickly shut, clearly he was exhausted and his breathing steadies, his head turning onto the pillow, his mass of golden curls shining in the moon light. She leans forward and drops a kiss to his forehead. His curls brush against her cheeks and she knows if for no other reason she has to keep on going, whatever happens to Robert, she had to support Edward, teach him, be his mother. That's what Robert would want her to do while he's away, that's what she'd done last time, it shouldn't be any different this time. Yet her mind still tried to breath that it was, that Robert was older, less ready, less fit and thus more likely to lose his life. But Cora brushes the thoughts and Edward's curls away turning reluctantly for her room.

"Finally." She jumps at the closeness of his voice and her she glances up to see him resting against the door frame, his red jacket undone at the front. "I thought you'd never go to bed."

"How long have you been watching?"

"A while. I mimed for Edward to not say anything."

"You naughty man." She closes the door gently behind her as she pulls on the edges of his jacket, tipping her face up to his. "You better kiss me to make up for it." He tips his lips forward and kisses her softly before pulling away.

"Don't you want me to tell you when I'm going? What the regiment is doing?"

"Not now. Not tonight. Tomorrow. I want to live in bliss for a few more hours." And with that she lets him lead her down the corridor to their bedroom, his hand rubbing at her back.


	3. July 1917 l

AN: Thanks for all the beautiful comments. To MM shippers I'm putting a plea here for you to bear with, you're not going to like this too much, but, I'm going to say it again: I love MM, I really do, and they do have a happy ending, together, I just want to take them both through a set of experiences that I think bring them so much closer and make them love each other even more.

* * *

 **July 1917.**

Lavinia couldn't help but feel strangely nervous as she twisted her hands around each other. Waiting. Waiting for him. For Matthew. She'd only seen him a month or so ago for that very short weekend but well, lots had happened since then. Lots that involved the both of them, and their future.

Downton was now a convalescent home, brimming with officers with all realms of ailments. She helped Cora, Edith and Sybil regularly and she rather enjoyed it, feeling useful- treating the needy. It had all been Sybil's idea, when a young blind gentleman at the hospital had taken his own life and the youngest Lady of the Abbey had been sure it was down to his being sent away. Whatever it was Lavinia was pleased, she knew if it was Matthew stranded in some corner of the country she'd want him to have treatment like Downton was offering.

She jumps, visibly, as the door shuts and she hears his voice in the passage. He'd been given one day to see her before his touring of the country began.

"You're back, I'm not sure I can believe it."

"If you knew how many times I've imagined this scene." His lips press firmly to hers then, and when he parts them his nose runs behind her ear, her stray hair brushing his face. "Oh god Lavinia. It feels so weird to be with you. When men are fighting. Dying."

"Is is really bad?"

"Worse than you can possibly imagine. I called via the Abbey before I came, thinking you might be there. And walked in on all those officers- wounded almost dead, for no apparent reason." He seems to disappear within himself to visions that Lavinia neither knows of not really wishes to understand. The world of fighting, blood, warfare.

"Talking of the Abbey. I thought, for the next few months I could move there. To help with the officers and also because well, Cora may be of some assistance to me. And Mary, Edith and Sybil some moral support."

"Why, why would you need-" his face loses it clouds, and he's watching her intently with that worried look in his eyes, that gaze that makes her remember that he does love her, he really does.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

Edith swirls effortlessly from one officer to the next delivering books and stationary from her neatly arranged pile. Edward trots long next to her with a smaller pile of books his mere presence causing quite a stir with the young officers who liked to lean forward and whisper good morning to the young Viscount. He whispers gentle replies before slipping across to Edith and pulling on her skirt asking when they are going to Smiley. Sure enough, after ten minutes of delivering books that morning he tugs on her skirt.

"Smiley. Can we go see him now?" Edith smiles and tells him he can, she'll join them in a moment. He bounds off and Edith can't help but feel so pleased he was coping so well. The officers in the house telling Edward things he didn't want to know had worried all of them when they'd agreed to become a convalescent home. But, as everyone did that ever came across Edward, they all loved him and wouldn't do anything to harm the young boy. Captain Smiley in particular had taken a shine to him, and Edward regularly sat on his bed and the Captain read to him. Edith helped the gentleman write his letters and in doing so was teaching Edward to form his letters and spell simple words. It wasn't too difficult, he had the intelligence of his parents just as Edith and their sisters had. She knew that Mama was teaching Edward to read at night and she didn't wish to interfere with that, her own memories of Mama's reading lessons still fresh in her mind.

She pauses in the drawing room door as she enters the room where Captain Smiley has his bed. Edward sits next to him today holding the book while the Captain reads. Edith watches and feels a large smile tug at her face when the Captain pauses to cough a little and Edward pats him on the back before reading most of the next sentence himself. It was like his speech Edith realise, he was surprisingly quite shy and hid his abilities until he was definitely sure he had the right pronunciation. She hesitates, almost running off to tell Mama but hen she changes her mind, no doubt he'd do the same for her in a few days or weeks and it was better for her to have the joy of the natural transition than them trying to force him to read again.

* * *

Cora doesn't hear the footsteps behind her, far too focused on her task of sorting through the linens. Isobel had left her to the task, as she did with most of the things that involved the servants or housekeeping, while Isobel did the medical records, arranged the nurses and kept Dr Clarkson informed. It was all somehow, running swimmingly, even tiny Edward played an important role in entertaining the officers. It kept her mind at rest to know she was doing something really beneficial to help the war effort.

She jumps when the hands grab at her waist, and she feels the scratching on her skin from the places he'd missed shaving that morning, as he leans forward and presses his lips greedily to her neck.

"Robert, people are watching." He only nuzzles his mouth into her neck still further. His lips drifting up her neck.

"I don't care. You are my wife and this is my house. I may do as I like." Ever since he'd returned that night from his dinner; when everyone had been sure his fate had been sealed, and they'd climbed into bed, Cora not wanting to hear the news, his fate, until the following morning. Then he'd told her he wasn't going anywhere, that there had been some confusion and a letter that had never arrived. He had a ceremonial post, that was all. He'd been like this since then, far too amorous and far too attentive it was lovely but just occasionally unsettling. When she'd asked him why he was like that he'd merely replied that he wanted to make the most of the chance he'd been given, being free from fighting and able to spend his time with her, with the girls, Edward. He was in short, determined to embrace it. "Now do stop wriggling Lady Grantham, so I may kiss you." She blushes as he turns her in his arms, pressing her gently against the table. She tries to ignore him, pretending to be distracted with something over his shoulder, but as always he finds her out. "Stop pretending to be distracted, otherwise I'll only kiss you for longer, so more people will see."

"Are you blackmailing me?" She teases him, she'd ways enjoyed teasing him and being teased in return, it was a favourite of hers and proved that their relationship was based on far, far more than a mere physical attraction. "Because you know, I do want to kiss you anyway. I always do." Her hands drift to his jacket, his plush army jacket, as she tilts her lips to his. It doesn't last very long before she drags herself from that world she loves so much back to reality, and the calling of her name.

"Cora!" It's Isobel racing down the stairs. "Oh, my..." She comes to a sudden stop just as Robert and Cora part. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting...you're busy."

"No, I was just coming. What is it you need?"

"Well, if you're sure you're not busy."

"Actually Cousin Isobel I was going to take Cora out for a walk." Robert steps behind her, his hands clasping her waist.

"Ignore him Isobel. We will go out later he knows that." She swivels in his arms and quickly kisses his cheek before turning back to Isobel and the collection of paper she'd already spread across a nearby table.

"It's to do with the nurses schedules and the servants lunch. We need to discuss how it could all run more smoothly." Cora nods her head, leaning carefully over Isobel's pre-prepared plans, fully aware that Robert's gaze still lingers on her back.

* * *

Matthew wanders along the familiar path from Eryholme to the Abbey with Lavinia on his arm. She seems slightly nervous, twitchy. But Matthew can account for that, they'd decided that Cora, if she was going to have Lavinia staying in the house, really had to know the particulars of the situation, she had to know about the baby. All was well and good but Lavinia had expressed a concern about it being too soon, she was hardly very far along yet, a lot could go wrong. But Matthew had insisted, he wanted to be there when she told Cora, and now was the only foreseeable chance. Isobel already knew but Cora was the one that was going to give up some space at the Abbey, she deserved all the facts.

Matthew himself was twitchy but for entirely different reasons, he knew Cora well enough that Robert would definitely know the news by the end of the day, that was part of the bargain but he dearly hopes the news could be kept from everyone else for a time- in fact, not really everyone, just Mary. He knew how she'd deal with such an event, by pretending it didn't effect her, bother her, and wallowing in her own annoyance and upset and then finally she'd make some rash decision, probably become engaged to some tyrant.

Robert approaches along the path ahead of them and seems to quicken his pace when he sees them.

"Morning my dear chap. How are you? Still in one piece I see." He pats him dramatically on the back and Matthew smiles, it was like coming home to a father. No, not like, it was. And he was amazed their relationship hadn't really changed despite Matthew no longer being the heir. "Morning Lavinia. What has brought the two of you on such a trek?"

"It wasn't too much of a trek. The car bought us into the village, but we wished for a little walk."

"We need to speak with Cousin Cora." Robert raises his eyebrows, the look on his face slightly mocking.

"Well I wish you luck. I got turned away this morning. Something about needing to sort schedules of nurses and the servants." And at that Matthew himself raises his eyebrows.

"Something tells me you're marginally, just marginally, irritated. You thought you had her trapped." Robert becomes flustered at that, his hand reaching up to comb his hair.

"Well...women I suppose, far too difficult to understand. Aren't I right Lavinia?"

"Men can be equally riling I can assure you." Matthew is pleased she's coming out of her self a bit, from the closed in, anxious woman she had been that morning before delivering her news.

* * *

Sybil seemed to run seamlessly from one task to the next. On the outside she appeared totally calm and collected but inside, well that was a different story. A story she was still failing to understand herself. She knew she had every right to be upset, a little anxious, any man being called up for fighting was an anxiety making event. But it's the fact she felt more than that, a dark mass that's seemed to permanently haunt the back of her mind. Tapping away all the time, draining some of her thoughts from the task to the chauffeur. To Branson. Tom. Yes, Tom, she'd established that, he seemed always to be Tom now, in her mind at least.

She knew why thoughts of him, that black mass seemingly descending on her mind, was so great at the minute it was because he was waiting, he'd had the medical. And he was waiting. But worse than all that was the fact he seemed to be determined not to fight but to make some kind of exhibition. It had all sounded so ridiculous, so far from the world they'd lived in all these years. It was proof that it only needed one opportunity and every man in the world that was unhappy would be waiting, grabbing arms, or their next door neighbours, maybe both and making some stand against a government, a regime, a person.

She didn't even realise she'd made it to the garage, to him, but there he was beneath the car today. His legs and torso appearing from the car, but his head somewhere beneath it. She takes a second, stilling on the path, to look at him, study his torso, his legs. She turns her face reluctantly away as she walks a little closer not ready quite yet to be caught watching him. Not yet.

"I wondered when you'd appear." His head appears from beneath the car, both his hair and his cheeks splattered in a fair amount of oil. It speckles his hair and adds yet another dimension to the mop of colours. "I had a letter." She senses the bitterness in his voice as he scrambles to his feet.

"And?"

"They don't want me." He grabs the letter roughly from the front seat.

"Some rubbish about a heart murmur. I mean I ask you." He throws the sheet of paper back into the car. "It's such bullshit it sounds like you, or someone else that doesn't want me going, has gone and told them I want to overthrow the whole system, protest."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Oh, I don't know, I wouldn't put it passed your lot, you all think you have the right to rule the world. Look at your father, escaping service."

"Branson! You know that's not true, my father was ready to go. If I were you I'd watch your tongue. It's a good job it's me you're talking to and not any other member of this family." She doesn't stop, she doesn't turn back she just runs, almost tripping over her skirt. How on earth could he say those things, be so rude, so unappreciative. Didn't he love her, or had that been just some passing infatuation?

* * *

Mary sat, but she didn't feel like she sat, she felt like she slumped. All thoughts and feeling lost, her heart must be beating without any proper rhythm as the words pound around her head. Pregnant. Lavinia was pregnant. With Matthew's baby. It all seemed surreal. It seemed like she was going to be pinched any minute and would wake up from a nightmare, except, she didn't. She was never going to wake up because this was her reality. This was life she was having to cope with. And now quite literally she was going to have to watch another life. A life that should have been hers and Matthew's unfold before her eyes. It had been bad enough with her mother carrying Edward. The constant joy that radiated around the household while she was in gloom, and now it was to happen all again but worse, because however much she tried she couldn't hate Lavinia and she really wouldn't be able to hate the little baby that was going to be theirs.

She begins to mull over the prospect of marrying herself, there was Sir Richard that rich newspaper man, he could most certainly provide for her and she knew he was keen, so very keen. Far more forward than any other man she'd ever met, except perhaps Pamuk. It was a compromise to be sure, but she'd have the life she'd grown accustomed to, the luxury, the grandeur.

But the issue was he wasn't Matthew. Matthew could give her all those things and yet she had decided not to allow him. She who was madly in love with him, something she could admit to herself but nobody else, had turned him down all because of some stupid title. Some title that by the look of this war and what the after affects were likely to be would be worth nothing by the time it was done. It wouldn't even be worth all the money that her mother had paid for it all those years ago. And yet she'd sacrificed her whole life just for that wretched three words: Countess of Grantham. But what she really, really wanted was love; Matthew's love.

"I hope you'll be happy for me. For us." His voice so close to her ear makes her start a little and she turns her gaze back to her tea cup, letting China click against China.

"How could I not be happy? Lavinia is lovely, and will make a far better mother than I ever would!" He chuckles a little at that and Mary feels Lavinia's steely gaze on her scalp.

"If you're sure. I thought, I thought perhaps you resented me."

"Never." And it was true, she didn't, she resented herself. "Besides I think I might be happy very soon, there's a newspaper man, you may have heard of him, Sir Richard Carlisle." She doesn't know why she says it, she doesn't really want him to know, goodness it was her life, he didn't need to know. But somehow she'd said it, to protect her own self no doubt, to protect herself from the love she so wants him to remember, or perhaps it only needs igniting, still smouldering away somewhere within him. But she can't let that happen; Lavinia was too sweet, too lovely. There was no need to tell Matthew that she's not likely to go near Sir Richard for some months. No need to tell him that's she really wasn't that keen at all.

"Well, he'll have me to answer to if he's not good to you."

* * *

Robert was fairly relieved, he finally had Cora on his arm as he strolled through the parkland. She'd even donned her tweed walking clothes for the occasion, hurrying out the house earlier announcing she wanted to go as far as possible. He hadn't asked why, sensing her upset stemmed from some source that she was still getting straight in her head, when she felt comfortable to, she would tell him.

"Lavinia has asked to stay with us, at Downton, until the war is over."

"They said they had something to tell you when I-"

"And Lavinia's pregnant." Robert stares out across the wilderness for a moment. Thinking not of his own reaction to that, but Mary's. This was going to be a hard time, the next few months with Lavinia right before her Mary was likely to struggle. None of it was ideal, none of it was what they had wanted for Mary but well, this was the reality and they had to live with it. She couldn't expect the couple to not have any children, it wasn't realistic.

"Does Mary know?"

"Yes, she was with me when they arrived and neither Matthew or Lavinia felt it right to turn her away."

"Did you allow her a room in the house?"

"I could hardly turn her away. She's so sweet but Mary, these next few months...she must hate me for tying her to seeing Matthew's whole future unfold before her." He smiles at that, Cora often forgets that Mary is not as like her as everyone would like, she's far too like her grandmother.

"She won't hate you, or at least will never admit to such a thing, not when she knows that you did the right thing. You couldn't have turned her away." Cora seems to except that fact and clings to his elbow a little tighter as they climb back towards the house.

"Matthew also says that General he's touring with: Sir Herbert Strutt wouldn't mind paying a visit to look at the convalescent home."

"Well, that must be due to your hard work my dear, that's quite a privilege." They walk along in silence for some time, quite some time actually. The house comes into view, and nanny heading towards them with a jumping Edward when Cora suddenly opens her mouth, but not in amazement at seeing Edward.

"You know, after this morning, I thought you were going to be all affectionate this afternoon." He chuckles which earns him a smile.

"I was. But when you came out I could tell something was troubling you. I wanted to hear that first. And then, well, the moment had passed."

"You never fail to amaze me."

"I'm pleased darling. A husband must have some element of amazement and after this many years I need to keep it up, otherwise you'll fine some young chap." She laughs and rolls her eyes at that.

"And then, in the next breath, you make me wonder where on earth you've been for the last twenty-seven years. I'm not going anywhere, ever." And with that she skips along the path, like a little girl and pulls Edward dramatically into her arms, kissing his cheek.


	4. July 1917 ll

AN: I've made a few changes in this chapter, which follows Sir Herbert Strutt's visit, for a couple of reasons, the first is simply I wanted him there for dinner not lunch. The second comes from the script book, when he first arrives at the house Julian Fellowes writes in his directions that he flirts with Cora, he had used it for the Cora/Isobel storyline I'm going to do something else. I hope you enjoy, and thanks as always for the wonderful support.

* * *

 **July 1917.**

Mary couldn't see that it would help, telling Matthew some rubbish about some scandal years ago. But she wasn't about to tell her grandmother that. She couldn't fathom what her grandmother expected Matthew to do if the scandal was true. He was hardly about to divorce Lavinia, she was pregnant with his child. And as for her, well, it would hardly make Matthew fall head over heels for her again. Yet she couldn't help turning over the scandal in her mind, wondering if it would make any difference, wondering if it was even true. The thing that surprised Mary most was the realisation that Lavinia must know Sir Richard, otherwise she couldn't have taken part in the scandal. She couldn't imagine that Sir Richard was Lavinia's kind of person or vice versa. Lavinia was surely too timid, too well behaved for Sir Richard but it seemed he either stooped very low, or Lavinia had a fiery side, a determined streak that she kept from public view.

"I still don't think we know enough Granny. She probably had some very good reason for stealing papers, that had nothing to do with any kind of relationship with Sir Richard Carlisle."

"I wouldn't put it passed her."

"I beg to differ, if Lavinia does something she has a good reason for doing it. Sir Richard on the other hand, if you'd met him you'd know he could get up to anything."

"Well, thank goodness I'll never have to meet the man. He sounds ghastly. And to think he and Lavinia..."

"Granny, really, I can't imagine they were ever lovers."

"Well, Rosamund..."

"You've always told me to ignore what Aunt Rosamund says and yet now you are agreeing with her."

"This is to find you your happiness, my dear."

"Um, but if I remember correctly it was her that wrecked it in the first place."

* * *

Lavinia watches Cora over the top of her pile of linens. They were delivering the linen to the various different room, and little Edward was with them today, rather than Edith, and he persisted on carrying far more towels than he could really manage. They had been discussing the baby, and whether Lavinia would want use of the nursery at Downton for the first few months and Lavinia had broached the subject of the changes needed to be made at Eryholme to make room for a nursery and possibly a nanny. The Nanak situation was a sore point pot for Lavinia, Cora had announced that she'd help find Lavinia one. But, Lavinia didn't want one. She knew Cora was very good with her children, of at least she was very good with Edward, very hands on, playing with him, feeding him and she wanted to do that. But unlike Cora she was going to have time. There was going to be no dinners and balls to attend as she had with her position in society. Lavinia would always be there never really having to leave the little child, whereas Cora had to admit that was part of her life. She did need a nanny and it seemed she had forgotten that she, Lavinia, would not.

"I know it's early, but have you thought of any names yet? Discussed anything?"

"We have a little, but only because Matthew worries he won't be able to get leave for the time of the birth."

"Will you tell me any of them?"

"For a little girl we thought Grace was quite nice but we haven't discussed boys names."

"Grace is very pretty. Robert and I had pretty much run out of girls names we liked, so when little Edward was a boy we were delighted on all fronts." She smiles to herself and manages to release one hand from the pile of linen to affectionately curl her fingers in her son's locks. Lavinia watches with a sense of pride, she wants to be that mother. The one that has such a firm relationship with her children.

"Can I ask you something?" She hurries along the corridor so she walks parallel with Cora.

"Of course. Anything, any worries you have come to me."

"I was so pleased when I found out. But I hope Matthew is as happy as I am, but I find it hard to judge. He seems so distant, so far away. Was Robert happy when you told him, about Edward that is?"

"Yes, well, he didn't believe be at first. Men!" She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated fashion and Lavinia giggles. "But, he came round, very quickly and he was delighted, he had been every time." Lavinia just shakes her head, thinking back to Matthew's stare as she'd said the word 'pregnant.' He'd stared for some time until he'd finally stood up and rubbed his hand through his hair. And it was only then that he'd come over to her and expressed his amazement and his happiness, apologises for his brief stillness. But somehow, when Lavinia had thought the baby would bring them closer together, that was what she so craved after all, it was pushing them apart, Matthew seemed more distant than he was before. "I'm sure Matthew will get there. From experience I've found that they don't quite believe it all until they feel the baby move, or actually see him or her. Whereas us women are attached from the start."

* * *

Robert gets more than marginally annoyed as the general, however mighty he may be, makes Cora giggle in a fashion that he has only heard on occasion, occasions when he has been making her giggle. He tries to ignore the way the General's hand lingers behind her back as she walks up the stairs before him, her face tilted up to his in a way that makes Robert want to squirm. He had absolutely no right to go around as if he could claim every woman he came across as his for the day. My lord, he had already publically teased her, in front of the servants as well, about how pretty she was in comparison to crag faced men that usually surrounded him. What did he think was going to happen? Cora was hardly going to forget the whole afternoon that had been planned, talking to the officers and showing his the different rooms, and instead drag him to her room. He never thought he'd say it but he'd be glad when the man left.

It had all calmed down a little now, and Robert had managed to arrange with Carson that the General should be sat somewhere other than the seat Cora had assigned him: next to her. Carson had looked at him strangely, an odd twinkle in his eye but Robert had ignored it, far too desperate to make it back to the small library, where they were gathering before dinner, so that he could keep a watch on the General. He trusted Cora absolutely, she was just indulging the silly man, but the General himself was likely to thinks she was easy prey, some poor Countess married against her will to a man she hated.

He spots her straight away, her red velvet dress stealing any mans attention when matched with her dark hair. The next thing he sees rather makes his stomach churn, the general leans into her, his hand resting on her shoulder as she mumbles something in her ear. Cora blushes and looks away. He knows he shouldn't be jealous, not when there was absolutely no reason to be, Cora was his, she always would be. But he couldn't help feeling slightly inferior against the greatness of General Sir Herbert Strutt. After all, he wasn't some Great War hero who could defend her from whatever, he was just some earl who had far too much of a podgy tummy in his more mature age. While Cora, well, she still looked like she was nearer forty than fifty.

He strolls in their direction, conveniently coming to stand slightly behind Cora, to her left. She turns her face up to him and he can see the relief that shows in her eyes. It seems she wasn't a fan of the gentleman's intentions either. She takes a tentatively step back and her body rests very slightly against his. The general still watches her, his eyes following her movements.

"I was just complementing your wife Lord Grantham on the success this convalescent home shows, she's obviously very behind the cause."

"Lady Grantham would succeed at anything she tried, even if I do say so myself." Cora seems to glance up to him again, a questioning look swirling between her eyebrows.

"Well, I'm sure. She certainly has the beauty to manipulate any man." Cora blushes and twists her necklace around her neck again. Robert watches with utter annoyance, how could the man be so vulgar.

"And no doubt sir you have the charm to infatuate any woman. But it doesn't necessarily follow that every woman wishes to be charmed." Cora glances at him worriedly, sensing the anger in his voice no doubt, he knows he hears it.

"Surely the lady in question should be the judge of that?" The man seems to almost curl his lips in a snarl, Robert feels his hands fist.

"Sir," it's Cora's calm, flirty voice that filters through the anger. "My husband has possibly come about this conversation in the wrong way. But, I'd rather you kept your compliments of my being to yourself so not to cause a scene. We're here for the officers and the convalescent home, not for a jealous feud over a mother of four, who's almost fifty, between two men who are both mature enough to be more sensible." And with that she turns on her heels and sashays over to stand with Mary.

"Well," Robert taps his fingers over the glass in hand before swilling the liquid into his mouth. "It seems we've both been outdone."

"I didn't realise you had four children? I thought you just had three daughters?" Robert almost turns away from the obvious ice-breaker, but a chance to talk of Edward and thus prove his and Cora's relationship overcomes him.

"No. Edward, our son, was born in December 1914. Quite a little miracle." The General stares at him for a second and then his eyes close, as if piecing something together.

"Is he joining us for dinner?"

"No, no, he might come through and join us afterwards though." Robert is released from the mans company at that, as dinner is called and he reaches to accompany Cora. Thankfully she doesn't say anything about his behaviour as they amble through to dinner, she merely clutches onto his arm.

* * *

Sybil was pleased the dinner was over but as she sauntered into the small library her mind was still playing over the images of the dinner. Tom appeared with the soup only to be promptly removed from the room, and removed was the only word that could be used. Carson had literally pushed him out the door. It had taken all of Sybil's attention and thoughts for the rest of dinner, and that didn't seem to be changing now. They hadn't spoken again since they'd fallen out the other week. But it hadn't taken her too much of dinner to figure out what the hell had been going on. Tom had wanted to make a spectacle to the army, take all the people in charge to their deaths. The visiting General was one of those people and no doubt Tom had decided he might take action. Assassinate him maybe, perhaps he'd had a gun. But Sybil somehow knew that wasn't in Tom's nature he'd try something he knew. Something he could do with a lot less trouble. She didn't know what quite but she couldn't believe he'd kill a man because of his anger.

These pondering safe still with her as she enters the small library and is surprised to find her little brother perched upon one of the settees. His little feet dangling over the edge and twisting and turning this way and that; his socks come to his knees and his little shorts stop just above. Finding everyone else in conversation she wanders to him, perching on the settee beside him.

"How's my little Edward this evening?"

"Mama is not sitting wiv me, and she said she would." He slaps his hands on his legs and looks up to her.

"Well, Mama is busy. We have guests." He nods his head slightly at that before reaching for her glass and clambering onto her lap.

"Drink." Sybil glances around, wondering if anyone has thought to bring a jug of water.

"Did I hear Lord Downton ask for a drink?" It's Carson's voice just above them and Edward looks up.

"Yes. My brother would like a glass of water please Carson, but perhaps use a glass that doesn't matter too much."

"Of course m'lady." Sybil smiles to herself as the butler hurries, almost runs from the room. It seemed Mary might have a rival for the mans affections. He arrives back in record time a small glass of water in hand that Sybil diligently holds as he drinks. He curls his fingers around the glass but Sybil doesn't quite trust him enough to let go, however much he pushes her fingers away. He turns to her then, a little frown very like Mary's on his face.

"Let go, I can do." Before Sybil has to think of an argument that would work on a toddler the General calls the room to attention.

"I'd like to thank Captain Crawley for making this visit possible today. And I'd like to also offer my congratulations to Lady Grantham and Mrs Crawley on the superb running of events and the management here. But I fear, there are a couple among you who have not yet had the recognition they deserve. Lady Edith and little Lord Downton, whom the officers affectionately call Edward, and who until a comment by Lord Grantham earlier I didn't know who the devil was, for that I apologise young man. Anyway, the two have made quite the impression on a good number of the patients I have spoken too, and seem to be generally livening the everyday atmosphere. So, I'd like to raise a glass in their honour. Lady Edith and her little brother." Sybil can't help but giggle as all faces swivel towards them and Edward peers up at her.

"For me?"

"Yes my darling one, for you." It's her Mama's voice, and before Sybil even comprehends what's happening Edward is taken from her, swept into his mother's arms and carried off 'to meet the lovely general.' Sybil only hoped her father didn't hear that, she hadn't missed the tension in the room before when the general had quite pointedly been flirting with her.

* * *

Matthew can't help but feel confused as Mary asks to talk to him in the corner, dragging him from the excitement of the dinner, little Edward, and the toast. Something about something she'd uncovered or been told.

"I hope it's not something dreadful Mary."

"Well, I...I'm not even sure it's true. In fact I'm almost positive it isn't..." She seems to stumble over her words, unsure what she's saying.

"Mary, just tell me."

"It's about Lavinia."

"Mary I thought we'd got over this, I thought...I thought you'd given up the thought of trying to do whatever it is to get me back. I thought we'd decided on being friends? Because quite honestly I'm happy with Lavinia and she doesn't deserve whatever story it is you're about to spill."

"She was involved in a public scandal."

"Yes, she's already told me about it. The Marconi scandal, she stole some papers to protect her Uncle. And before you even mention it, she and that newspaper tyrant Sir Richard Carlisle were not lovers." He turns away before he can look at her, but that doesn't stop him from hearing her.

"I never thought..." But she stops there, an outburst of tears weaving down her cheeks. He turns slowly back.

"Mary, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I really didn't. I want you to be able to support Lavinia through the next few months, the baby. I trust you above anybody else. Please, if not for her, for me, for what we almost had." She seems to stare at him for a long time before finally, almost invisibly nodding her head. Afterwards Matthew realises that it was perhaps a long time she'd thought about it, no doubt there was much to think about, their relationship, how close they'd come and the fact in different circumstances, if different choices had been made, that would be Mary's baby. He pushes that thought away before it has a chance to consume him.

He returns to the library to find Lavinia, clutching Edward, waiting for him.

"What did Mary want?"

"She was only thanking me for arranging the General's visit. And I took the opportunity to thank her for looking after you." It relaxes him, and worries him how easily he's able to lie to her, and without a shadow of doubt creeping over her features. He leans forward without hesitation and kisses the side of her face as if putting his own mind at rest for lying, a kind of compromise. And sure enough she turns to face him, a glint in her eyes that Matthew recognises too well, a glint that means she wants him to kiss her more. It wasn't that he didn't like it, it was just somehow not as fulfilling as he'd expected. Not quite everything he wanted and that worried him so much. He just smiles prettily before turning his attention to Edward.

* * *

Cora was curled in bed, stretching her toes slowly back and forth as she read the exciting climax of her book. Just as she turns the page, desperate to read the end of the sentence the dressing room door swings open and Robert strolls into the room, abandoning his dressing gown over the chair. She keeps reading, desperately trying to reach the chapters end just a few lines away but as expected the book disappears from her grasp and Robert clambers into bed. He pulls her flush against him as he shuffles down under the covers, burying his nose somewhere near her ear.

"You Lady Grantham, are one very naughty lady. Calling that general lovely to our little Edward, what on earth is he going to think when he grows up?"

"Well, if he's anything like you, he'll be so jealous he'll then rip his lady's favourite book from her grasp as she gets to the most exciting bit, just so he can kiss her. And for an almost fifty year old man, you are really very childish getting jealous like that!"

"Only because you, my dear, appear to have forgotten where your loyalties lie." She combs her hand gently through his hair as he moves his face from her neck and lies back against the pillow facing her; his hand still massaging desperately at her side and back.

"I haven't forgotten. I could never forget, as I told you the other week, when you, my far too handsome husband climbs into my bed every night and persists in kissing me at least once before I fall to sleep. How could any woman forget that?"

"I'm not sure, but you, my dear, appeared to forget tonight."

"And I suppose I shall me punished for that?" She hooks her leg over his own, and presses her mouth to the underside of his chin.

"Yes, I think you might." And just like that the room echoes with her own giggles, her own laughter as his hands arrest her waist in his favourite pattern. She's panting desperately by the time his hands still and he hoists her nightdress over her head, his lips descending to kiss her tummy.

She feels so young in that moment, as he plays with her, teases her, kisses her.

"I love you Robert." He pauses.

"I know my dear." And with that he kisses her, for the first time that night, soundly on the lips.


	5. February 1918 l

AN: Not much to say, just a big, big thank you, I was so worried about heading for new territory (all these characters) and you're all being so supportive and sticking with me despite the fact I'm breaking some people's hearts. I thank those people more if anything, for staying strong because you enjoy my writing!

Just note the jump in time for this one, otherwise you might be a little confused!

* * *

 **February 1918.**

Lavinia stares down at the little girl, her eyelids fluttering open, her pale blue eyes appearing. The doctor had said they were likely to change colour but Lavinia really hoped they didn't, they were just so beautiful. She knew it wasn't likelythat they would stay though, not when little Grace was a month early. She was pleased she and Matthew had decided on names before hand, because she wouldn't have wanted the little girl to go around nameless. In many ways she was relieved Matthew hadn't had to experience the long hours of standing around he would have had to have endured if he'd been here. It had be hours, hours and hours of pain that Lavinia could never have imagined, not even in the worst nightmare. She'd been pleased that she'd had the support of both her mother-in-law and Cora throughout. Isobel had kept telling her it would all be worth it, while Cora made her laugh: exclaiming that Mary had been bigger, and with Edward she'd been old, and Edith had been so fast it was twice as painful twice as quickly, and Sybil, well, she'd been breach! Strangely it had helped stop Lavinia's nerves; Grace wasn't breach, particularly big, certainly not fast, and she wasn't thirty yet.

But, that was the past, a message had been sent to Matthew and he would hopefully at the very least reply if not try and get some leave. Little Grace had a mixture of their eyes and she knew that would please him seeing as her hair was definitely going to be Lavinia's ginger locks.

"She's a dear." It's Robert's voice, that's startles her from her musings. He's managed to wander around the bed without her noticing. "Matthew will be very proud." He rubs Grace's little cheek before ambling back around the room, collecting his book from the side. After all, to all intents and purposes this was his room; Cora's room, it wasn't his fault she'd been rushed into the nearest room available when she'd gone into labour. "I'm sorry if I startled you a minute ago."

"I was miles away, thinking of Matthew and the baby."

"Cora mentioned the name Grace. Is that a definite?"

"Yes."

"Well it's a very pretty name, for a very beautiful little girl. Thankfully she seems to have taken her mother's looks, but don't tell Matthew I said that!" She laughs at that, immediately spotting his sarcasm. "And, on a serious note, you're welcome here as long as you need, and we'll make sure Edward is perfectly behaved if you want to place her in the nursery. Edward's moved next door now anyway, so the crib is free."

"I was thinking of moving back down the corridor, to free up Cora's room for tonight."

"Cora will tell you not to dare, and I agree with her, I guest room has already been made up for us."

"I'm sorry, what an inconvenience."

"Lavinia, there's no need to apologise. In life ones children always come first, they demand that. Cora and I know that well enough."

* * *

Edith wanders through the tables in the main hall, between all the officers, passing out their evening post. Edward was with her, he wanted Mama really but she had taken a afternoon sleep seeing as she'd been up all night at Lavinia's bedside. It's as she walks along the last row of tables that she spots young Daisy, scrubbing diligently at the fire; her hands already black with soot. Edith notices her shoulders are shaking, her head turning slowly from side to side as if to shake away the tears.

"Daisy, is something the matter?"

"I.." She seems to jump and turn her head quickly around, checking she's not about to be whipped. Edith doesn't doubt that terror comes from Mrs Patmore, who even Mary had admitted was something of hard work. "Well, you see, William, who's currently Mr Crawley's wingman, was meant to return on leave. He wrote and side he was coming, two days ago, but he hasn't arrived." Edith can't help hut smile to herself, it seemed young Daisy rather admired their second footman.

"Is William your beau?"

"No, no. We're all very fond of him downstairs, m'lady." Her negative reply is too quick for Edith to believe her, it seemed she was fonder of that man than she even realised. "But, I'm, we're worried something's happened. We can't understand why he hasn't written if his leave has been changed."

"No. Quite, I'll speak to Lord Grantham, he might be able to find something out."

She finishes handing out the letters, thoughts of young William, and Matthew, and his new daughter swim around her mind. Surely if William was missing, or even dead, there was a chance Matthew was too. What if he never met his little Grace, who really was quite adorable. The only thing that hurt Edith a little was the realisation that a woman as young as Lavinia was a mother while she was quickly heading towards spinsterhood. Not a single man even on her list of men vying for her hand, let alone an engagement ring, or wedding ring. It bought home how much she wanted to be a mother, to be married and be able to have a family with a man she trusted, and hopefully loved.

As these thoughts seem to merge quickly from one to the other her father wanders down the stairs and she takes the opportunity to corner him.

"I've just been talking to Daisy, she says William was meant to appear back on leave a few days ago, and he hasn't."

"Did Edward hear any of this?" She turns twice around, catching the bright eyes of her little bother by her side.

"Of course I did Papa. William is missing. At the war field, yes?" Edith and Robert both take a very deep breath. "Don't sigh Papa. I'm big boy now. I am three."

"Edward, go and see Lavinia and little Grace. In Mama's room. But if Lavinia is asleep come away, and if Grace is asleep-"

"Be very quiet. I know." He runs to the stairs, his blonde curls disappearing around the banister.

"What is this you say about William?"

"Daisy, the kitchen maid, says he's meant to have been home on leave yesterday but never appeared. He hasn't written or anything."

"Did you tell her that the chances are..."

"I know. But she sounded so desperate. And well, couldn't there be a chance he's just stuck somewhere, or imprisoned?"

"Yes, I suppose. I'll write and see what I can find out, but I can't promise anything."

"Also, surely if William is missing his leave it means Matthew has been granted some at this time as well. Shouldn't we tell Lavinia?"

"Not yet. Not until we know more, and are sure." Edith doesn't argue with that, the woman had just given birth.

"I'm going to go up and check Edward is behaving, and view little Grace, I haven't done so yet."

"She's lovely." Edith catches the hint of upset in his voice, no doubt he wished very deep down that it was Mary upstairs, sheltered in Mama's bed, recovering from having Matthew's baby, but she doesn't comment just wanders to the door.

* * *

Sybil stands on what is becoming a well worn path, outside the garage. Tom leans up against the side, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the grin she was beginning to realise she wanted to see everyday across his face.

"You no I'll wait forever if I have to."

"Forever for what Tom?" Their relationship had bettered since the fallout a few months ago, and they were back where they had been, Tom having got over his annoyance at the system, the war.

"For you."

"For me to do what?"

"Decide you're ready to run away."

"Tom I'm not sure you understand-"

"You're not ready yet, I can see that, but I don't think it will be long now. How else do you think you're going to escape that life you had before the war that you dislike so much now. You know your parents, your sisters, are going to revert to that lifestyle again once the war is over as well as I do."

"You don't know that. My mother is very behind the whole war, she might keep Downton open as a hospital."

"Either way, if you want to build a life of your own you can't do that here, with your parents." Sybil's not sure why she finds that insulting, her parents weren't that bad, my, she loved them. She realises, in hindsight that she's not so much insulted but annoyed she's been caught out in this in between stage of decision making. She is no longer the woman she was before the war but she doesn't think she is quite the woman Tom thinks she was either. She wasn't quite ready to run away and leave everything behind her. And that she realised was why she found his comment hurtful because she wasn't quite ready to hear them, even though she'd known they were coming.

* * *

Cora rolls over in bed that morning and is surprised to find resistance, in the form of her husband as she does so. She glances to the clock, which confirms that really he ought to be up but it didn't surprise her that he wasn't; the previous evening had been somewhat difficult for him to comprehend. Bates had left their employ just less than a year ago and last night Robert had discovered he was back in the area working in a pub, having wangled his way out of his wife's grip. Cora had never herself set eyes on the woman. However some years ago when Robert had returned from war with Bates on leave, he had seen her and been introduced, a small dinner had followed. He'd found her a most strange woman and had commented to Cora at the time that he'd never been pleased to leave Bates's company but he had been that time. Robert wasn't a man to take a dislike to anyone without proper reason so obviously she'd done, or said something, or multiple things that night that had put him off. Cora had only last night heard the full reason behind Bates's departure all those months ago, keeping some scandal under wraps, no doubt the Pamuk affair, and for the first time in her life she was grateful for the man she'd always found difficult to understand Robert's appreciation for. The night had unfolded in such a way that Cora had never got to explaining her new decision, it seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things: the war, Bates, little Grace.

She watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, something she rarely gets to do, he almost always wakes before her. She lets one hand reach forward and slip beneath his shirt running over his stomach that he persists is far too rounded, a comment she wholeheartedly disagrees with. He stirs slightly at the sensation but nothing more for a good ten minutes when he finally opens his eyes.

"Morning darling, you've overslept just a little." He huffs and throws his head deeper into the pillow.

"It's this damn bed. The mattress is all broken or something. It took me hours to fall asleep and there you were merrily oblivious, deep in sleep." Cora ignores his little cut, knowing that he's a little too tired, and stressed to really mean a thing he says.

"Well, I would say you're just being fussy because unlike the mattress in our room this one doesn't have the huge dips where you usually sleep in it, instead it's springs are fully intact. Poor Lavinia is the one struggling with the broken mattress, not you." He looks at her with narrowed eyes for a moment before sitting up and reaching for her hand, pressing a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"You manage to make me forget all my anxieties and for that, along with lots of other things you are really quite amazing." She blushes at that, it really wasn't very often that Robert praised her openly, he wasn't goo at that kind of thing. She rather knew, than was told that he loved her.

"Thank you darling. I would have got up but I wanted to talk to you about Isobel."

"Oh?"

"She seems to think I'm not as behind the whole convalescent home as I was before and she keeps complaining about decisions I make, saying I'm distracted." It had been eating away at her for a while now, a constant companion when she was with Edward or Robert.

"And are you?"

"Well, I...I want it all to be over-the war. And I do really want to spend time with Edward. He's going to be off to Eton or something before we know it, and I can't give that time up."

"Of course you can't. Tell her that, she'd understand."

"I have...but she doesn't. Or at least she seems to think that gives her authority over everything now." She hears her own voice crack, she really hadn't realised how much this had been getting to her. Robert pulls her towards him and kisses her gently on the head.

"Shall I have a word?"

"No, no she'll think me such a weakling, asking you to defend me."

"Any person that thinks you weak should be sent to me immediately for a dressing down." She chuckles at that. "How about you come with me tonight. To see Bates?"

"I thought you wanted to go alone?"

"Um, I think I'd like you there. But at this moment I think it's time we got up. Shall I help you dress?" He drops another soft kiss to her head before clambering from the bed just as a knock sounds at the door.

"M'lady," O'Brien comes rushing in. "A telegram for your lordship." Robert takes it from her as she ambles back out the door and it's opened in seconds, he'd obviously been waiting for this. His eyes close and his shoulders slouch before he passes the paper to her.

"Lavinia will have to be told." That's all she says, that's all that needs to be said at that moment. The rest of their morning seems to fall away before her eyes, in his haunted gaze. It was the past, gone, perhaps forever.

* * *

Mary can't honestly believe what she is hearing. She knew Sybil was, well, rebellious at the best of times. But this, this was absolutely drastic, a world away, quite literally from anything she was expecting.

"What do you mean he 'wants to run away,' with you? Or just from Downton?"

"With me." Mary had so been hoping that wasn't the answer her little sister was about to give.

"And do you..."

"Want to go? I'm not sure. I want the life he's offering I'm just not one hundred percent sure I want him."

"That's the opposite to me. Branson's not bad looking, but his life..." She chuckles to herself.

"Is that all you can think about, is that the only reason you love Matthew? Because he's handsome; because that's really vain Mary. Looks play a part, but it's the person that's important." Mary is a little taken aback that her sister rounds on her in such a fashion but she holds her own, fighting back the tears that well within her.

"Oh god, now you sound like Mama."

"Well she's right. It's not like she chose Papa just for his looks. She says she found him funny."

"Yes, and his title was an added bonus no doubt." Mary really does hate talking of others people's lives, particularly love lives and her parents. All she ever heard from friends was how lucky she was that her parents adored each other, and weren't they sweet?

"Oh Mary, don't be so cynical, you know as well as I she had the pick of almost every man that year."

"Um, and Papa's motives were of course so honourable, the money and the fact she happened to be the best looking of the ladies with money. Hardly your idea of a love story."

"It is one now though, isn't it. Look at Edward." Mary can't argue with that however much she might want to. Edward was a fine addition to the family and Mary adored him. They all did.

"Anyway, what are you going to do about Branson."

"Call him Tom."

"He's still the chauffeur at this moment. Although how much longer that's to last..."

"Oh you know what Mary I wish I hadn't told you. I thought you'd understand what it was like with all that happened with Matthew."

"Matthew was not the chauffeur."

"No, but you did once call him a sea monster." They laugh together and Mary's thoughts swim with images of him, of Matthew and tears threaten at her eyes.

"Sybil, I will give two pieces of advice. First, if you love him don't sneak away in the night. Tell Mama, Papa, they should respect the decision. Secondly, don't let anything stand in your way when you do decide, don't listen to others advice. That was my mistake and I'd hate for you to suffer the same."

* * *

Robert found it more than slightly strange that he was sat in a pub, Cora by his side opposite Bates. Cora even held in her hand a glass of shandy that he doesn't think he's ever seen her drink.

"Bates I still don't understand why you didn't come straight back to Downton when you escaped Vera."

"I couldn't m'lord, I've moved gradually North, from job to job to try and keep her off my tail. If she knew I'd returned to Downton. To Anna. She'd ruin the ground I've managed to cover so far."

"With persuading her to divorce." He merely nods and Robert knows Cora has stiffened beside him. She didn't believe in divorce. She was perfectly happy for Bates to life at Downton estranged from his wife, but to divorce her, in Cora's mind, was tempting hell. Robert couldn't quite believe totally in divorce either, but he appreciated, no doubt through his happy situation that in many cases it was the only way, and for Bates, most definitely.

"Enough about me. How is young Lord Downton?" He's turned his gaze to Cora, who immediately smiles and starts telling Bates of how Edward walks with her on her rounds to visit the patients, and how he reads to them.

"I've heard a lot of the convalescent home from the locals. They're very pleased and feel honoured to have such a family that would do such a thing."

"Which is exactly what I keep trying to tell you, isn't it Cora?" She nods but looks at her lap again, the uneasiness from earlier that day washing over her again. Robert felt so stupid not to have noticed that the situation with Isobel had been weighing her down.

"It's not all wonderful. The news of Matthew..." She stops then, lifting her eyelashes, sudden realising what she has said. Robert reaches out to hold her hand and gently squeezes it. He glances back up to Bates.

"Matthew is missing." He even sees a tear in the man's eyes.

"I'm so sorry." Robert feels the tears that had been threatening all day amass on his cheeks.

"It's not your fault Bates. But I'll tell you what will be, if you choose to stay here rather than coming back and helping myself and Cora through this struggle. Otherwise we'll just be curled in bed crying for the rest of our years." They all laugh through their tears at that.

"It seems my hands are tied."


	6. February 1918 ll

**February 1918.**

Lavinia was wide awake, sleep being impossible when she knew that somewhere around the world Matthew was 'missing, presumed dead.' It was easier to stay awake somehow, the images she conjured up when she was asleep were far more disturbing than anything she could think of when she was awake. It was because of being awake that she heard the murmurings in the corridor outside accompanied with a tapping on the door. She quickly distinguished the district voice of little Edward calling 'Mama,' very softly, as though he was crying. Before Lavinia can struggle from the sheets to open the door, it has opened and Edward stands in the doorway in his little pyjamas, his face tear streaked.

"I can't find Mama." She swings herself from the bed, careful to walk quietly across the floor, little Grace was sleeping surprisingly soundly in the corner.

"Shall we find her together?" Edward nods his head vigorously and lifts his arms up- a demand to be carried. "I can't carry you Edward, I'm not quite strong enough yet."

"Why?"

"Because of little Grace." He doesn't appear to understand her meaning, but accepts the command, for which she is relieved, and takes her hand.

The sensation of holding his little hand as they walk down the corridor brings tears to her eyes as she realises that little Grace may never even know her father, and he will never know her, never walk down a corridor holding onto her hand.

"Have you had nightmare too?" She glances down to find Edward watching her.

"No, no." Edward seems to sense to leave the topic alone and let's her head him down the corridor to the room that Robert and Cora had moved into a few nights ago, so she could remain unmoved. Lavinia knocks lightly on the door before entering.

Before Lavinia can reach for him Edward dives onto the bed and a muffled moan erupts from Robert. But it doesn't seem to stop Edward as he reaches for Cora, who now lies with her eyes slightly open.

"Edward, what are you doing here?" It's then, as Cora sits up and the cover falls slightly from her that Lavinia notes the state of the bed, and the bare shoulders of both the occupants of the bed, she feels her neck burn a bright red, memories of Matthew swimming quickly across her mind, making her feel faint.

"I want Mama. I had a nightmare but then, then you not there and 'vinia helped me." Cora's gaze turns to her then and she nods her mouth opening and then closing, unsure what to say and when she seems to decide Edward shuffles against her, quietly sobbing again. Lavinia turns and leaves feeling like an extra part to a scene that only made her feel sick. Not because it wasn't loving or sweet it was because of those things she felt queasy. She wasn't going to be climbing into bed with Matthew and little Grace anytime soon. The tears fall onto her cheeks and she staggers back to her room.

* * *

Matthew struggles towards what can only be a building, possibly a hospital but he can't be sure. It's a building, and he's sure it's not German, they escaped those lines some hours ago. His breath is short and the weight of William on his back is too much, he staggers and coughs in the dark, reaching blindly for the outline of the building. All is silent at this time of night, only the occasional gunshot far in the distance as someone lifts their head to high or lights a lighter in full view of the enemy.

William had passed out some hours ago but only from lack of water and the burning heat, he wasn't injured thankfully and was still breathing. But he needed some attention Matthew only hoped he wasn't heading straight for a German encampment.

Matthew was well aware of the fact that morale at Downton would be low, no doubt news had reached them that he and William were missing and most likely dead. Matthew only hoped that Lavinia had either had the baby and was already save and well, something to distract her. He'd hate to think of her suffering through pregnancy or birth thinking he was dead. His thoughts drift to Mary next and he wonders what her reaction to the news might have been, was she upset, crying secretly or was she just putting on a brave face, he was only a cousin after all.

The building comes further into view and Matthew breathes a sigh of relief when he sees in the dim light of dawn a British soldier stood to one side. He pushes the last bit of energy into his legs and struggles forward, he collapses on the ground before the man, William heaped on top of him just as the sun reaches the sky, illuminating the vast expanse of ruined land before him. It's at that point that he hears the shots ring out around him.

* * *

"What do you mean, she knows?"

"Exactly what I said. I told Mary." They stand in the courtyard out the back of the servants quarters, Sybil having waited their for him to come in for dinner, as was, according to Anna Tom's custom at the moment.

"That's the end of me then."

"She won't tell anyone. She gave me some advice actually." He shakes his head at that before running his hand through his hair.

"Advice about how to get rid of me I suppose?"

"No, about following my heart and not letting anyone influence me." He seems to smile a little at that and she's pleased, it had been some time, too long in fact, since she'd seen him smile.

"Do you think she'll change her mind if Mr Crawley reappears?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I believe your sister is very much in love with Mr Crawley, if she's asking you to follow your heart do you not think that's her speaking in grief of his possible death. And when he returns she may change her mind and stop pretending it's possible to live in heartbreak?"

"My sister is not like that. She thinks of few others but herself in afraid to say, so when she gives advice, it's proper advice. As to her being in love with Mr Crawley, I couldn't tell you."

"Because I'm the chauffeur?" She thinks on that for a second, it wasn't that she couldn't tell him, she could if she wanted to, but it was hardly his business, it was Mary's. Sybil was only assuming the fact herself, from the information Mary had given her, she had never explicitly said that she still loves Matthew.

"No, because she's my sister." She doesn't see the grin on his face as she turns and scurries quickly away at the sound of Mrs Hughes opening the courtyard door. She doesn't really realise what she's said. Before the war she would have always have answered it was because he was the chauffeur but now suddenly, but in fact, it wasn't suddenly it had been gradual, it wasn't because he was the chauffeur, it was because Mary was her sister.

* * *

Edith sat beside her little brother, perched upon the end of Captain Smiley's bed at the end of that mornings rounds watching him diligently swirl his alphabet onto the paper. Most of the letters were wavy-typical of that age but he'd really improved. He begins slowly penning a few two lettered words he had learnt as Edith begins to ponder how she's going to bring up the questions her mother had asked her too. Edith had been given a brief account of the previous night: Edward had been walked down the corridor, by Lavinia to her parents where he had dissolved in his mother's arms, complaining of a nightmare but never actually telling her what it had been about.

"I heard you didn't sleep very well Edward." He pauses, lifting the pen from the ink well Edith holds on her lap rather too quickly and dripping a little onto her dress. Before the war Edith would have made a fuss, but now, in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. "Mama said you cried a little."

"I had a nightmare. What now?" He points at the page, his alphabet and a selection of two letter words clustered at the bottom.

"What don't you tell me about the nightmare, I might be able to help."

"You're not a boy. Only a boy can understand."

"Why don't you tell Papa then?" He chews at the inside of his cheek at that before grinding the pen into the page again and starting to slowly write the letters of his alphabet again, his tongue twitching over his lips. An answer seems to come to him as Edith marvels over her little brother.

"Because he's man, not boy." Edith can't help but think Edward is keeping something from himself she tries again.

"Why did you want to speak to Mama if only a boy will understand?" He seems to get exasperated at that, his anger flaring like his father's does. He jumps from the bed with a stomp and throws the paper and pen onto her lap.

"I love Mama, and she hug me and love me." He seems to be close to crying again and Edith stands ready to run after his retreating form. My, being a mother was hard.

"Lady Edith," It's Captain Smiley who breaks her concentration.

"Is there something you need?"

"No, no. But don't go after Lord Downton. He doesn't want to be pitied, he wants to try and be a man and work things out for himself."

"But he's not a man, he's three years old."

"I know, but trust me. He'll go to Lady Grantham when he realises he can't quite get over the nightmare, whatever it may be about, on his own." At those wise words Edith turns reluctantly in the other direction as her thoughts turn to the next thing she needs to sort- the concert for the officers.

* * *

Cora awakes to the far too familiar sensation of a weight against her. Usually the weight is pleasant, a hand grazing against her waist or Robert calmly waking her in the morning with a kiss. But this weight was unfamiliar, jarring, a jabbing against her waist and stomach. Her eyes finally fly open as she rolls to one side, grumbling.

"Mama, Mama."

"Um, Edward, it's the middle of the night darling. What's the matter?" She mumbles as her eyes try desperately to close.

"Edward, climb off your mother. You'll hurt her." Cora feels the weight lift from her stomach as Robert lifts Edward from her. Only for thrashing to occur a second later, hands jabbing at her side again.

"Let me go Papa. I want Mama." And then a sound that Edward didn't make that often, even as a little baby. He begins to wail, tears pouring down her cheeks. And just like that she's sat bolt upright her arms reaching forward to Edward and pulling him to her cradling him in her lap, his tears soaking through her nightgown. She rocks him from side to side for some time until his breathing finally evens out, the tears slowing. He sits up a little and looks around. Cora is taken aback when Robert reaches forward and runs his hand over his head, only for Edward to start crying frantically again his breathing so shallow and dragged that Cora fears for his life.

"Edward darling, breath with me." She exaggerates her breathing desperately to try and get him to respond to her. He seems to eventually, and this time, rather than letting him look around him she nuzzles her face against him. "You feeling better now sweetheart?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Shall I take you back to your room? Or are you going to tell me about this nightmare you keep having?" He shakes his head vigorously, taking a moment to take a look around him, when he glances Robert he quickly buries his face in her chest again.

"In the morning. I will tell you. But, can I sleep here."

"Only this once." It had been a rule she and Robert had always had, the children could sleep in their room but only once in a while, when they were really upset, like Edward was now, or if there was a thunderstorm or such like, otherwise they were to sleep in their room. It had been to protect their own privacy, the time they spent together at night was their time, not to be interrupted by their children and they'd always been very firm about it. And the girls had always known they were only to come to the room if they had a serious problem and theyy must always knock. There had been an incident with a three year old Mary, when she'd walked in on things she really shouldn't have seen, not that thankfully she seemed to notice; as always with Mary she'd been far more bothered with her own problem.

Edward curls down into the bed between them and Cora reaches over the top of his head to touch Robert's cheek. He glances over at her and she mouths 'I love you' upon seeing his facial expression. The haunted look in his eyes, the, well, Cora thought it was jealously, but it couldn't be, could it?

She awakes the next morning to that same ache in her side but this time she doesn't struggle her eyes open, knowing little Edward is sound asleep bedside her. It's the other sound in the room that's woken her, the click of the dressing room door. Cora's surprised to see Robert has opened the dressing room door and is heading through it, dressing gown and book in hand.

"Darling, where are you going?"

"I'm getting up Cora. Edward is not going to want me when he wakes so I might as well go." Cora doesn't have a chance to reply before he's exited the room, banging the door a little too sharply behind him. The war it seemed was beginning to the its toll on all of them, Isobel for one was still driving Cora up the wall, she wanted her to go, as she kept threatening, but with Matthew currently missing she couldn't quite ask that much.

"Mama, I'm awake."

"Morning sweetheart." She turns her attention back to her little miracle curled in bed beside her. Robert could wait, she'd sort him later, he'd come around with a little persuading. "Now, I think you and I should have breakfast together this morning, in my room, and you can tell me about your nightmare. Yes?" He nods reluctantly as Cora reaches for the bell to summon O'Brien. She really needed to get to the bottom of Edward's nightmare and she had a horrible feeling Robert featured in it, though how, she didn't know.

"Can I have egg Mama?"

"Of course."

They curl up in the bed together some time later, breakfast over their laps.

"Papa keeps asking me to join him at breakfast. But I think he will be disappointed with me." Cora doesn't realise Edward is speaking about what might possibly factor in his nightmare for a minute before he suddenly launches into his whole nightmare.

* * *

Robert doesn't hear her coming, and even if he had he wouldn't have turned around. No doubt she was stealing a moment away from the running of the convalescent home to spend with him, but today that didn't align her with his sympathy. He knew he was jealous, far too jealous. But he couldn't quite let the looks Edward had given him last night leave him, they had haunted him all morning. He'd stepped out into the parkland to try and ease his mind, he'd followed the path to the pond and had sat staring at it for hours but he couldn't seem to clear his head. The should of her footsteps, the gentle clip clip of her heels on the wood makes the tears he'd been holding down spring to the forefront. He was jealous of Cora for crying out loud, she was his mother and here he was jealous of how close Edward let her come, of how he looked at her. Yes, Edward certainly loved him, but he seemed to adore Cora, dote on her in a way none of the girls ever had. It had been unexpected he supposed, the firm attachment and he felt caught out.

"Here you are darling I've been...oh, my, whatever's the matter?" She drops down beside him, wrapping an arm swiftly across his shoulders and gazing at him as though he's little Edward. It only makes him hurt more, the look and the fact she's seeing him crying mixed together in a fierce anger towards himself.

"Nothing."

"Darling, I know you better than I know myself. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. Now, if it's to do with Edward-"

"He doesn't like me." He doesn't really knew what brings him to say it, to tell her. He wants some support he supposed, he knows she's going to condemn the fact Edward prefers her and somehow, in a kind of hollow way that will make him feel better.

"He admires you very much. That's what his nightmares have been about, letting you down in some way, failing to be a good enough Earl and ruining your hard work. He keeps seeing himself in your place and failing."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. And I feel bad, I feel I should have realised, all he ever talks about is whether this will please Papa, or do you think he'll prefer that. I'm not sure he realises how much you love him just the way he is."

"I'm not good at that kind of thing though, heart to heart conversations." She shakes her head at that, a familiar twinkle in her eyes.

"Darling, he's three and unlike me he's not going to banish you to the dressing room when you say something wrong." He chuckles at that, an image of an angry Cora racing across his vision. She really was someone to admire when she was angry, she didn't go about things in any kind of half-hearted way.

"But nor will he kiss me when I get it right."

"Well, if you come to me when you're done, I'll kiss you for him, how about that." He turns to her, taking her hand and kissing the palm.

"Sounds like an excellent plan." Cora was quite a marvel and most of the time she failed to realise it.

"You were jealous, weren't you?" That brings him up short, she might be a marvel but he didn't half sometimes wish she wasn't quite so good at reading his mind.

"Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that."

"He'll grow closer to you as he gets interested in male things, I promise. Although, if you teach him things he shouldn't know, about girls and suchlike, they'll be trouble."

"And how on earth am I going to talk to him about such things when the experience I gleaned before you was sparse at best." She seems to look down at that, studying their joined hands, her fingers trailing over the curves of his knuckles.

"I don't expect it would have been if you'd not had to marry though, you were a very handsome man, you still are, and Edward is going to be just the same."

"But handsomer still I think. He has your gorgeous eyes." She doesn't have a chance to respond as Robert gently presses his lips to her. Why on earth had he een jealous, jealous of a woman who had given him a life he might have dreamed about but never expected and that's not mentioning the four beautiful children they'd raised together. He kisses her harder before finally pulling his lips from hers, her hands hover by his neck.

"Where on earth did that come from?" Her eyebrows are raised in their look of questioning but her eyes are bright, excited, pleased at his attention.

"It came from you, I forget sometimes how very wonderful you. I think I take you for granted, us, the whole life we've built together. I sometimes need to take a moment to remember just how lucky I am. I've lost that recently."

"Anyone would lose that when there's a war going on. Speaking of which, the concert for the officers is tonight." That reminds him of something he's been meaning to ask for the last two days, but Edward interrupting their sleep had put it out of his mind.

"Are you going to sing?" She scoffs at that.

"I haven't sung in front of anyone since before the girls were born. But Mary has agreed to sing."

"You've sung in front of me." He shakes her head at that and leaning forward presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Only when we're alone. You know I don't like it."

"Perhaps not. But you have a beautiful voice. Which thankfully Mary seemed to inherit. Perhaps Edward might?"

"Who knows? I don't doubt we'll find out. But right now, you need to go and speak with him about how proud you are." He stands and takes her hand, tucking it neatly into the crook of his elbow, how he did like to walk along with her on his arm. It used to be a way of showing her off to all his unmarried friends, but now, now it was just because it was a comfort, beautiful to have her so close and her undivided attention as they walked.

* * *

Mary tried not to register the faces in green jackets that were before her, none of them were Matthew so she didn't really want to see any of them. She was being harsh again and she knew it but somehow she couldn't quite break through the barriers she'd put up in her brain. Lavinia stood at the back with Grace in her arms, an officer was presently giving up his chair so she could sit. She'd taken some persuading to come to the concert, she refused to leave Grace, which everyone could understand, hence her position at the back of the room, it allowed for a quick escape.

Mary hears her cue and with her thoughts miles away begins to sing. Her mother had sung to her as a girl and Mary didn't doubt that was where she found her talent. She smiles as the officers join in with her, pleased that at least they thought her mind was entirely at rest and she was purely enjoying the singing. Edward sits on Mama's lap and Mary can't help but smile at the singing little boy, it seemed even he had caught onto the lyrics. He did looks so perfect sat with their parents. He was half and half, the exact little miracle that all of them had imagined when Cora had announced her condition.

Mary doesn't need to contemplate her next move, she wanders back up the aisle she'd just come down, the officers gazes on her back and lifts Edward from Mama's arms. At a break in the music she manages to whisper into his ear to keep singing and he smiles down at her before joining her at the next cue. She perches him on the top of the piano, his legs swinging backwards and forwards to the music.

Then it all seems to happen really quickly. Edward keeps singing but she hears her own voice break off and she can feel the water sting at her eyes as she tries to turn them away. She needed to carry on, remain professional, not be conquered by her own emotions. But she can't, she just can't, when the man she loves, yes, she'd finally admitted to herself that she still adored him, has just entered the room, he stops as soon as he enters. Touching Lavinia on the shoulder, she jumps and then bursts into tears Matthew grabbing a hold of her as she stands, young Grace squashed between them.

Mary stops, she does not realise that she has until Edith stops playing and turns on the piano stall to look in the direction Mary dimly realises she was staring. He was safe. He was home. The tears sting at the corner of her eyes but they don't escape, they can't, not with everyone watching.

"Don't stop for me please." It's his voice travelling across the room that finally makes her break her gaze but he doesn't hold his eyes on her for long before they return immediately to little Grace who's now nursed in his arms. Of course, Mary sighs inwardly, he wasn't hers anymore. He had a wife and a daughter. She was just the penniless daughter of an earl. She was nothing to him. She needed to start remembering that. She closes her eyes and Edith, thankfully, takes the cue to restart the music. Mary joins her seemlessly, nothing on the outside was wrong, she sung as gracefully as a swan swam but beneath all that her heart burned in bitter resentment as harshly as the roar of a lion in the silent night.


	7. August 1918 l

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. To the guest who left one last Saturday saying how much they were loving the story and wanting to find out how Mary and Matthew will sort themselves out thank you, your review made my Saturday! To the other guest reviewer on Wednesday who was hoping for more MM scenes, they are coming but I'm afraid they're about to drift further first, but as above you really made my day, so thank you so much. This chapter is a long one, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **August 1918.**

It was strange that morning. It felt wrong because it was quiet. Dawn had broken but there wasn't a gun shot to be heard. Silence seemed to echo in a way the gun shots had only hours before. Somehow he knew, he knew that this time he wasn't going to be coming back to his tin of heaven knows what surrounded by mud and water. This time he could somehow feel the chill in his bones as he directed his men to take their positions. Somehow he knew he wasn't going back, not whole anyway.

It was weird he thought, some people had always said there was a sixth sense, and that somehow some people just knew when something bad was going to happen to them or someone they loved and at this moment he believes that, but then war had tested his knowledge on a lot of things.

He scrambles over the trench at the sound of his own whistle, running, adrenaline crashing after the men before him. William races at his toes, a fast runner if ever there was one. Shots ring out around them in a song so less harmonic than Mary's. His mind drifts to her, to Downton and then to the face of his daughter, his darling Grace.

The weight pushes him backwards he tries to fight against it, to push forwards as he'd always told his men to. But the weight is unrelenting, it forces him to the ground shattering the image of his Grace. Then he hears the crack a split second before his legs seem to disappear, had he just been hit by a shell? And then everything seems to fizzle slowly to black as the weight on his body seems to remain but that on his legs disappears, both legs vanishing. Just before his mind goes totally black he tries to crane his neck, to see if he indeed still has his legs but another crack resounds, followed by a gun shot and everything disappears. Everything but Mary's sweet song, which seems to echo in his dream if indeed it was a dream, perhaps this was what heaven was like, an eternity of Mary singing.

* * *

Robert groaned as he reached over once again finding the bed empty. She was working far too hard. But there was nothing he could do to stop her, not now Isobel was gone. It was inevitable he realised that eventually they'd all come to blows. If he was honest he was amazed they'd all lasted as long as they had. It was inevitable that eventually one change was going to be too many, or some judgement was going to make the other woman flare up. And it was also inevitable that Cora would be the one to stand her ground. Not only was this her house but she was rather terrifying when she was angry. Robert chuckles to himself at that.

"What is so funny?"

"I was thinking of you angry sweetheart."

"I hope you don't enjoy it too much. When I'm angry with you I do expect you to be upset not secretly laughing." He chuckles at that as she walks passed him to the door. He reaches out for her and claiming her waist pulls her back to the bed. "Robert, really-"

"Trust me. I'm never secretly laughing when you're angry with me, I'm usually assessing where all the exits are." She leans over and rewards him with a gentle kiss on the forehead, but before she can move too far away he tilts his face to hers, capturing her lips. She gracefully untangles herself a second later and Robert watches reluctantly as she heads for the door.

At the time getting really angry with Isobel to defend his crying wife had seemed like a good idea, a really good idea but at this moment he was wondering if in fact he was being slowly punished. Ever since Isobel had left four months ago Cora's workload had doubled and although the war was supposedly almost over he felt she was slipping through his fingers at an unforeseeable rate. But he couldn't have stood by, he knows that, not when Cora was being accused of being distracted just because she took some hours out of her day for Edward and himself. He'd done right to defend her, to make sure Isobel knew her place.

He rolls over very exasperated, it seemed the sleep he so needed wasn't going to come. It wasn't the only problem in his life though. Bates was in another predicament, it seemed Mrs Bates had got wind of his return to Downton and was threatening to sell the story, the same one he'd run away with her to keep her quiet. The funny thing was Bates wouldn't tell her what the scandal was. All he ever got was: 'some rubbish about Lady Mary m'lord.' But yet he was willing to run around the country to try and protect said story, surely then he at least believed it to be true, a scandal worth keeping quiet. He'd been meaning to ask Cora about this possible scandal for weeks but he kept forgetting.

"Robert" the sound of her voice rouses him from the slight slumber he had been finding and he turns to find Cora out of breath in the doorway, tears in hers eyes. "You better come." He doesn't need telling twice, he stumbles to the door not even bothering to collect his dressing gown.

* * *

She felt numb, that was the only way to describe it really. Everyone else had dispersed, to grieve and hope in their own spaces. Edith and Violet were chattering outside talking to some Cousin having already gleaned the whereabouts of William-it seemed he'd been caught too. She tried to focus on their conversation to ease her mind of the nothingness that seemed to fill it but she couldn't. The only thing that really seemed to smooth her mind, and albeit in an ironic kind of way, was Grace. She was over six months old by a few days and was throughly content to sit in her arms rather than wiggle about the floor on her bottom, as had been her newest favourite. Matthew had missed so much of her little life but Lavinia hoped more than anything else that he would survive his injury, that they'd be able to treat it so that he could see her remaining years, her remaining achievements. She dreaded the thought of her baby being fatherless, the thought of having to marry another man just to secure her future. She was almost sure Robert would allow her to stay on in the house they'd gifted to Matthew on the border, but she would have to learn to manage the estates and such like and even then her only 'family' if you could even call them that, would permanently pity her, the girl, the widow. Even little Grace had no reason to remain near Downton, she was Matthew's heir, but not Robert's. And even then, what were the chances of Matthew having had a chance to sort his will in Grace's favour on his last visit? He was gone again before she'd had a chance to relish in his being there. Her world was falling apart so quickly around her and as for poor Grace's life it was questionable how good that could be.

"I thought I'd find you here." It was Cora gently easing herself into the nursery, Edward perched on her hip.

"I wanted to be with her."

"Of course you did. When Robert was fighting I spent hours and hours with the girls. I planned day trips and took them out all the time, even it was thundering." She chuckles to herself as she remembers and Lavinia for the first time sees the similarities she has with the mature woman before her. "I even dismissed Sybil's nanny long before the governess was due to start and cared for her myself, everyday, every night. That might not sound like much to you but to Robert's Mama it was a hell of a big deal!" Even Lavinia laughs at that image and gazes down at Grace who's slowly waking.

"Is it bad I want another one already?" Cora walks around her at this point, leaning over her shoulder to touch Grace's cheek.

"No. I was the same after Mary. Mary was little more than Grace's age when I fell pregnant with Edith. Robert and I were both beyond delighted."

"I'm not sure Matthew would be. He never really asks after Grace when he writes." It had panicked her for some time, his lack of interest but then again, it wasn't really lacking he asked about her enough, every other sentence really, but Lavinia supposed he wasn't quite as excited over new things Grace did as much as she was.

"I'm sure he does. She's beautiful."

"Well he does but he's never as-"

"Enthusiastic as you'd like him to be?" Lavinia turns her face to the older woman, her height next to her not intimidating but almost like a protection.

"Well. No."

"It's because he feels he's missing out. You write to him of all Grace's achievements but he doesn't experience any of them. When he starts to he'll be twice as enthusiastic as you, I promise."

"But you can't promise." She feels the tears streaming down her cheeks as Grace's eyes open, everything becoming quickly too much. "He's currently suffering from injuries we don't know anything about. There's a more than likely chance he might never see Grace grow up." She doesn't seem to have an answer to that, but then who did? Lavinia didn't have an answer herself, she wondered if God did.

* * *

Mary stares in a ridiculous fashion at the woman before her. She's knows it's ridiculous because she's not thinking about staring, not really, she'd thinking about how ill timed this was. Matthew was arriving that afternoon and if it was the last time she was going to see him alive, she wanted to be there. For the first time, delaying her ruin, or even protecting herself from the Pamuk scandal was not the first thing on her mind.

"She's going to go tomorrow. To that man you said you knew."

"Sir Richard Carlisle?" Mary doesn't really know why she asks it as a question, who else could Anna be speaking of? He told her on numerous occasions that he was the biggest newspaper man in the whole of England. She didn't doubt he was, what she didn't particularly like, surprisingly so as she was somewhat like it herself, was the endless bragging he did, and his rather large head. "It seems I have no choice. I'll catch the first train tomorrow morning."

"I had to tell you m'lady. She's so nasty, we both know she'll go through with it."

"I don't doubt that. I'll sort it, heaven knows what price I'll have to pay, but I'll sort it."

"Where are you going to find the money?"

"I've got the money. If that's what he wants. My worry is that it won't be what he wants."

"Don't get involved if the outcome will be worse. Surely a few weeks of misery is better than-"

"Nothing illicit Anna. He's not like that, but he wants to grow his power, his wealth." Anna doesn't seem to follow her for which she is pleased. The truth was Mary had thought about going to see him anyway, taking up that offer of dinner he'd left her with. She didn't want to be the reject. The woman pining forever over a man she couldn't have. It was pointless, a waste of time. Sir Richard had been interested, he'd made that obvious, not like the men of her class where you didn't know where you stood. And it would be an alright match, he was rich, powerful and had his noses in lots of doors, between them they'd open the doors of the country; and it seemed she was going to have to tell her secret, so that would save that embarrassment. The question was whether he would offer once he knew of her past and whether she would have the guts to accept if he did?

She didn't really know. He wasn't exactly a nice man, she'd only met him a couple of times but she could see that. He wasn't gentle or kindly. In truth really, he was too much like her. But she had little other option. Love was lost. Gone. She either dies a spinster or she marries a man like Sir Richard. He might not be able to provide love, but a large home, plenty of money and the lifestyle she was used to, he could do that. In fact he ticked a lot more boxes than he missed, therefore he was pretty much the ideal choice. The back of her mind liked to nag at her 'but he isn't Matthew' but she ignored it; she was stuck with the choice she had made.

She wanders along the corridor still thinking, wondering, when she walks straight into Edward running in the other direction, closely followed by their mother chasing after him, one hand in her hair, trying to keep it straight, the other hitching up her dress. Mary gulps. She'd made her choice and Edward had followed that choice into the world. She was the one that had sacrificed the most for him, but she didn't feel as though she benefited. He was adorable, yes. But he wasn't hers. And for the briefest moment in her whole life she wanted what her mother had. Children, obviously not with a loving husband as Mama did. But she wanted children. A little boy to chase along the corridors when she thought nobody was about (she'd seen the blush on her mother's cheeks) and Richard? He could give her that. Matthew had given it to Lavinia.

* * *

Edith couldn't help but wonder at how a man who looked perfectly healthy was destined to die. Every time you looked at him you thought there was a chance. She was above pleased that Granny had done everything in her power to have him bought here. He deserved that, to die in house where he was respected, where his father could reach him, and most importantly where Daisy was. It seemed it was obvious to everyone but her that she loved him. She might have to be wrestled in to the room by Mrs Patmore, and then she might rush away as quickly as she could but Edith thought it was her own subconscious at work, protecting her from the heartbreak, the sorrow that would inevitably come in not too long. Their had been whisperings of marriage, but nothing has come of it yet, thank goodness. Edith herself wasn't convinced it was a good idea, the young kitchen maid already felt bad enough it seemed- something about leading him on.

But above all these things, Edith's main concern at this moment was little Edward. He'd run along earlier this morning to find her and do their jobs as he liked to call them and he'd been very put out when he was told he'd have to do them with someone else as she was nursing William. His response was the typical toddler 'no' followed by a promise to stay with her and look after William. So there he was perched on a chair in the corner, thoroughly bored, as William did lots of sleeping, pulling at the seams of his shorts. She'd tried to coax him out the room on numerous occasions, she didn't really want Edward to see the inevitable scenes that would follow in the next few days. He was young and innocent. But, alas, no amount of persuasion had done the trick and he'd happily settled down to some of his sums- he'd now learnt his numbers and his alphabet. However that hadn't lasted long and now, as he had been for at least half an hour. He was twiddling his clothes around and swinging his legs faster and faster. If Edith was really honest she'd have thought he would have grown frustrated by now, but no, not little Edward. He wanted to please if nothing else. This was where he thought he ought to be, so he was here. He had what the majority of people would call the Crawley stubbornness, little did anyone know it was half Levinson. Anyone that knew their mother would have realised that she was given into by her husband far more often than she gave in to him. She had a way with him, and softened him, unfortunately she hadn't been able to soften Mary's stubbornness.

There's a knock that sounds at the door, startling her out of her thoughts over Edward. Edith isn't surprised that it's Daisy who enters and she averts her gaze as she shuffles reluctantly for the bed, William reaching out his hand to her. Edith found an annoying amount of jealousy tended to wedge itself in her mind whenever Daisy arrived and it infuriated her. What on earth did Edith have to be jealous of, yes William loved Daisy but they were never going to be happy. He was lying in his death bed. And yet, she still craved that feeling of being wanted. Wanted by absolutely anyone. Patrick always springs to mind as she thinks of these kind of things. She always likes to wonder whether the man actually loved her, if he was really set on Mary. Were the advantages of the first daughter really so much greater than that of the second. She often wondered if he'd been thinking of her as he'd been thrown into the freezing water; people dying all around him. She wonders then if he even thought of Downton, and had Mary featured? It was all hopeless to think about, it got her caught in the hours of grief she tried so hard to avoid.

She snaps her head up at the word 'marriage' her eyes trailing back to the scene before her.

"I'm not sure you need to worry about that William. The focus is making you better." She's half convinced William knows she's lying to him, that he knows really she's only making him as comfortable as possible for the inevitable. His father had began to suss the only outcome there was to the condition his son was suffering, it was only believable that the man himself, going through all that pain would have done so by now as well.

"I don't wish to be rude m'lady, goodness you've been a tremendous help. But what else have I to think about but giving Daisy, the girl I love, a proper life after I'm gone?" She can't answer that but instead swallows the lump of guilt and annoyance sitting in her throat. He was right of course. She only wished he wasn't. Or if he was, that a man like him would one day do the honourable thing for her. In fact, it wasn't even the honourable thing, sometimes she felt a dishonourable romance would be quite nice. Anything, she'd reluctantly concluded that made her feel wanted. Not anything of course, a man was all she really wanted, and a life in which she would be content. But she feared above all else that this said life had drowned with Patrick.

* * *

She'd known Dr Clarkson would be angry but that hadn't stopped her from doing it. Lavinia most certainly needed to be there and as for Mary, she was never not going to be there. Mary, Sybil didn't doubt would be of some assistance, she'd learnt a great deal working in the convalescent home but Lavinia, she'd likely be fairly upset and sit quivering on a chair clutching his hand.

That's what she'd thought would happen but in fact Lavinia was a perfect help doing the little things that Mary and herself didn't wish to do with her watching- unbuttoning his shirt and removing the soiled clothes he'd travelled in. She didn't particularly sob that much either, she just calmly did as Sybil asked despite being in a trance. Between the two of them Matthew would have the best care of anyone in the hospital. But then Sybil knew that was down to one factor- their love for him.

It was difficult when thinking of love, and watching the two women bath the wound on Matthew's back, each wearing aprons, to not think of Tom and his love for her. She didn't really have to wonder if he would care for her in such a way if she was unwell or hurt: she knew he would.

She gently collects Matthew's pile of belongings and stops for two reasons. The first is to hear more clearly through the bustle Lavinia's voice. She was murmuring, or perhaps singing to Matthew, the words perhaps had some significance, Sybil didn't know. The second reason she stops is to stare at the item that has fallen from the bundle she holds. She recognises it straight away- Mary's dog. They'd each had an animal for their first birthday, sourced and purchased by their diligent parents. Edith had a little cat and Sybil's was a bear. But the question really was what on earth the dog was doing in Matthew's belongings? She glances up at Mary who has a blush staining her cheeks, she gently shakes her head.

Sybil glances between the three of them, a love triangle of ever there was one and then back to the dog. Mary had ways said he was lucky Sybil had never believed it until now. He'd survived the blast that William was going to die from, was it possible that the dog had a hand in that? She twists it around in her hand before wandering over to the windowsill behind Matthew and placing it on the ledge.

Mary and Lavinia are both staring as she turns back around and she smiles quickly.

"For luck. It's bought him this far, it might be tempting fate to take it away now."

"What do you mean?" It's Lavinia who speaks, breaking her gaze from Matthew for a moment to look at her.

"It's lucky according to Mary. And he's survived a fatal wound when he was carrying it. I don't believe in that kind of thing...but this is war and William is dying from exactly the same blast. Maybe the charm is lucky for him." Sybil doesn't quite understand the connotations of what she's said until she's said it. She doesn't realise that she's just pierced the smallest hole in Lavinia's heart. But when the girl crunches up her nose, as if to stop a flow of tears Sybil realises. She realises what she's said. Mary's dog was in his pocket. But not Lavinia's letters or picture. The girl was already wound up, her mother had mentioned that, being worried about Grace and Matthew's lack of enthusiasm.

But as fate would have it. Sybil manages to escape her humiliation as Matthew seems to gain some element of consciousness and murmurs Lavinia's name.

* * *

Cora shuffles uncomfortably in the bed. Staring at the little scribbled note that had been abandoned on her bedside table.

Mama, Mary going to London tomorrow.

At least that was what it was supposed to say, Edward had obviously had some help with the spelling but it was legible which made Cora smile. What she couldn't quite understand was why Mary hadn't told her herself and what on earth she was going in the first place. And now, she fidgeted.

She'd heard the door to Robert's dressing room click open and shut some time ago and the gentle mumble of voices told her that Bates had come, and now gone, and yet Robert was still not here. There was much to talk of, including Mary's strange visit and he wasn't here. Finally she hears some stirring from the other side and he appears, Cora hopes she imagines the look of slight annoyance in his eyes when he sees she's still awake.

"You shouldn't have waited for me. You need your sleep." He clambers into the bed.

"Yes, but I also need to talk to you, we haven't seen each other all day. And I can tell as we speak that something is troubling you." He runs his hand through his hair in his anxious habit and she watches how it muses the curls before she slowly reaches up and moves his hand. He thankfully gets the picture and biting his lip once answers with one word.

"Bates." Cora had been expecting any number of things, Matthew, Edward, but Bates had not been on the list.

"To do with Mrs Bates I suppose."

"Yes." His hand drags through his hair again and Cora blushes as she realises how nice she finds it when his hair is all mused. She hadn't realised she still liked it, she had when she was younger but she didn't think it was still a thing. "That scandal, Mrs Bates has announced she's going to the press with it. Some Carlisle gentleman."

"That's the man Mary mentioned once that she knew."

"Yes. Bates said that Anna had told her." And just like that it all falls into place, the scandal was undoubtedly the Pamuk one and Mary was going to go to London to try and twist Carlisle's favour. She feels rather then hears the whistle of air race through her lips. But she resists the urge to be upset, to blame herself for Mary's situation but instead picks up the scribbled note and hands it over to Robert.

"Edward left this on the bed." He takes it and straight away his eyes cloud. Cora leans over and kisses his neck. "He's growing up so fast." He turns to kiss her forehead.

"He's a darling, our little miracle. And his lovely mother is someone I give thanks for daily."

"And now you're buttering me up."

"That might be as it is, but, I'm not sure you're really that bothered. In fact if I was to take a bet I imagine I might win if I placed money on the fact you actually want to be buttered up." She merely smiles and chews her lip which prompts him to kiss her, pulling her around to lie stop him as she squeals a little.

"And I thought you said I needed my sleep."

"You do, but you also need me. Isn't that what you always say?" She blushes like a rose, she knows she does. She doesn't reply, deciding instead to prove the truth of his remark.


	8. August 1918 ll

AN: An early update as I'm away early tomorrow morning!

The biggest thank you ever for the lovely reviews. I'm pleased so many of you are enjoying Lavinia as I wanted to give her a proper story, she was under rated in the show, I think. I like Carson, had no objection to her, other than she was with Matthew!

MM lovers, I send out the biggest plea to you in particular to stay with me this chapter because I may or may not have let Sir Richard enter the picture! I thoroughly disliked the man so, I've made him really, really nasty, but he's so important to more than just Mary's plot in this story (although it might not appear that way) so I hope you can withstand.

Reviews have dwindled slightly, and as they are what keeps me writing, if you enjoy this please, please share your thoughts, it would mean so much as this is a totally new style for me. Enjoy! X

* * *

 **August 1918.**

Mary doesn't look up from her lap, she doesn't need to she can almost smell the look of disgust that marks his face. A lady, a daughter of an earl sleeping with a foreigner. He must, no he is, sneering done his nose at her. Not that Mary minds much she knows many a person that would sneer down their nose at him: Sir Richard Carlisle hardly a common name in the societies in which she moved. Which is what he wanted of course, to be anonymous. To be the man everyone was curious of but not able to beat. He was already that now but he wanted to extend that hold preferably to the upper classes of society. And he wasn't going to let this chance slip through his fingers. Mary could sense the curl of his lips, the shrewdness of his gaze as he thought it all through.

"I'll buy your story, keep it safe, on one condition."

"I've got as much money-" She stops as she sees his lips curl into a smirk. She'd been right then, this had been what she'd wanted anyway, wasn't it? A release from Matthew, a life that was full of what she already knew. _She didn't want love, she didn't need that._ Her brain chants it like a mantra drilling it into her mind. Mary tries not to note that it needs drilling in, that really, she can't accept it.

"Don't be so quick Mary," the dropping of her title makes the hairs on her arms stick up. "I have money, I have more money than you, I don't doubt that. All my clients give me money for their stories. But I'm sick of money. What I really need is a wife; some children, something to spend my money on." Mary gulps as she stands Sir Richard stepping decidedly too close to her. She backs away but he reaches a hand forward, watching it as he trails his hand across her waist and hip. Mary shivers. She'd always been a confident woman, but somehow Sir Richard Carlisle make her feel like a mouse being chased by a cat. Intimidated, overshadowed, insignificant. "Let's face it Mary," his breath tickles at her neck as he leans still closer, tightening his hold on her waist. "You already know what being a wife entails, I'll be able to tell you if this Turkish bloke taught you well. It's that or ruin, after all you've given me the power for your destruction."

She almost says no, she almost steps away from him but her grandmothers words from many years ago, when she was a really young woman, ring in her mind: avoid scandal.

"It would be my pleasure Sir Richard. I advise you write to my father. Naturally, I don't have to tell you to keep my shame to yourself that's your job if you're to be my husband, to praise my talents and hide my shame." She doesn't stop walking until she's back in Grantham house, safely locked in her bedroom and then...then she cries.

* * *

He feels nothing. And then he feels nothing again. He only knows he's supposed to be feeling anything because the doctor asks if he can feel this or that. He also knows that the doctor isn't the only one watching his humiliation. She's there. Stood slightly to the right of him clutching her straw coloured coat around her. Her lips don't quiver, her eyes aren't filling with tears. She seems to think that she wants this life with him. A cripple. She's willing to give up any future children to be his nurse and goodness he couldn't let her, he didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anyone let alone Lavinia. She might be the mother of his child but he no longer felt that was a reason for destroying her life. They could never divorce. His disability wouldn't allow that in the eyes of the law but he couldn't ruin her life. She could have whatever she wanted, he'd pay. A lover, a London house, anything. But he wouldn't allow her to waste her life just being his nurse, his wife- well, not even that now, they couldn't be lovers after all. He doubted she'd realised that yet. She'd never give that up no, he knew that she loved him, that he wouldn't be able to totally let her go, his own experiences had told him that. But she could have a life every other evening of the week, every other hour if she so desired it.

He only knows the doctor has finished his examination because he announces he's leaving, quietly seeking Lavinia's company as he does so.

Matthew doesn't need to hear the conversation. He knows it's about the children-or lack of. Who else needed to know? His mind seems to scream Mary but he passes it off as a memory of the trenches, people screaming names mixed with gunfire. He wants to roll over, but he can't. It's stupid he realises how much one takes for granted the feeling in ones legs; knowing when you needed the toilet; knowing simply where your toes were; what kind of flooring was beneath your feet. All these things he now didn't know, couldn't assess. And worst of all he couldn't give Lavinia what she so deserved.

He hears her footsteps but he can't turn over to see her. Instead he has to be humiliated by her leaning over him and holding his shoulders, and then her hands don't seem to be anywhere on him so he imagines they are somewhere below that place where all he can feel is pain, and the biggest bruise he's ever had. He'd thought the bruise was small, but then he'd realised he'd been drugged and that as that started to wear off the pain had intensified two fold every hour until the doctor has prodded at it. It was strange Matthew had a feeling the bruise was five times bigger than it even felt as the doctor had obviously touched him in places he couldn't sense.

"Comfortable?" She peers down at him, a look of pity mixed with a devotion to serve sculpted in her eyes.

"I won't ruin your life."

"You wouldn't be-"

"Lavinia. You know I would. No children. No...love. A nurse for your life long. You didn't marry me for that and I won't let you do that. We can't divorce I know-"

"Divorce? Matthew. I love you."

"But you can have a life. Another man, some children. I refuse to tie you down."

"I have Grace and you. That's all I want. I won't have you send me away Matthew." She stalks off them, tears finally glistening in her eyes and for the first time he sees an element of Mary in her, a feistiness, a strong will to do as she thinks and not be told. He feels a swell of annoyance at the realisation that for the first time he's proud of her. After all, he should I have been proud of her the day they married.

* * *

He'd had a similar letter in his life years ago. Threatening letters themselves weren't all that uncommon really-angry farmers, annoyed villagers, but never had he received a threatening letter from a suitor. The most similar letter he could think of was one he'd received from Cora's father at the announcement of their engagement. He'd expected it then though, Isidore had been very attached to Cora. But to receive one from this Sir Richard chap had not been what he'd been expecting that morning at breakfast.

He'd asked for Mary's hand, or rather 'permission to court her' in such a way that Robert knew if he refused something drastic was to happen, what he wasn't sure, but somehow he didn't think it would stop short of death. The thing that worried Robert, beneath all the subtlety threatening clauses was Mary. Why had she made this decision? He really couldn't quite understand it. It was rather sudden, if nothing else and then there were her feelings for Matthew; they'd either vanished to nothing or she was doing this to cover them up. He hoped for her sake it was the former.

As if by a strange trick of fate it's Mary that enters the room at that moment. Her face bright and cheery but her fingers clicking anxiously at her sides.

"I've had a letter from Sir Richard Carlisle." She turns rather swiftly, a blush on her cheeks, her fingers fiddling the pendent at her neck- a habit of her mother's, she's nervous then Robert muses. "About his proposal, and your acceptance."

"Yes, and I suppose you disapprove."

"I can't disapprove when I've never met the man. What I am confused about are your motives for marriage."

"Motives for marriage Papa. I hardly think this is your line of trade. Mama had money and I think that was about all that led you to her."

"Not quite. But that's beside the point Mary she's made me extremely happy. If I could do it all over again I think I'd still end up with her. It wasn't just the money I promise. But, Sir Richard? Do you love him?"

"People like us don't marry for love."

"We didn't use to."

"Papa, I don't think we do now."

"Crawley's do."

"Oh really Papa. I don't love him. I might do one day, isn't that what happened with you and Mama? But he can offer me the life I'm used to, the house, the clothes, money-"

"Even with a war going on can you honestly be that vain, Mary? Clothes, money all of that can be lost in a heartbeat but love isn't." He leaves the room then marginally ashamed at how angry he got. He hadn't even met the man yet, but he didn't have to, the tone of the letter said all it needed to say. Mary was betrothed and there was nothing he could do about it.

"M'lord." He turns startled at the sound of a voice he doesn't recognise.

"Yes?" He turns to find a young woman, dressed in a housemaids uniform with dark hair and blue eyes like Cora's.

"Mrs Hughes sent me up, I'm the new maid, Jane." He nods utterly confused, why was this woman talking to him? Wasn't she just supposed to get on with her job?

"Is something the matter?"

"No, I-"

"Jane!" Mrs Hughes steps out of the drawing room. "Leave his lordship be, it's in here I need you." She scurries off as Robert shakes his head from side to side in confusion before he darts for the stairs desperate to seek out Cora.

* * *

Sybil is marginally amazed with herself that it's come to this. That she's decided. Ten years ago she wouldn't have thought it possible that she wanted a life that was anything but the one she'd got used to. But she was so close now, it wasn't the life that worried her now it was leaving her family. She does love them so very much and she dreaded to think what her parents would think of such a decision. She was going to have to prepare them.

"So if you're ready Sybil when are you going to think about moving, going?"

"Tom, one thing at a time. I was thinking of waiting for the end of the war, it's not far away now. And I'm going to need time to bring my parents around."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush you. I just can't believe you've finally made an almost final decision. But your parents, I'm not sure they'll ever be persuaded."

"You forget, you only need the forgiveness of one and the other will eventually follow." He chuckles to that and strides towards her, taking her hands in his own. She can tell he thinks of lifting them to his lips but then he seems to change his mind.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Inside and out?" She knows she's blushing, the truth is nobody had ever told her that, most men she knew had been scared off by her intelligence, her political astuteness.

"Anyone would think you were trying to get me to kiss you."

"Maybe I am." She blushes still further at his wicked grin and she almost, very almost says yes, but then he remembers it might be months before they can leave, or run away as was going to be the likely occurrence and if she got to carried away now she'd never last those few months, she'd seen her parents together. She knew what loving could do.

"Not yet Tom. I'm not quite ready yet." He steps away from her then, not too far, but enough to make her feel slightly more comfortable.

"What will your sisters say when you announce this?"

"I don't really know if I ever will. We might just have to make a runner."

"I never thought I'd hear an Earl's daughter say that to the chauffeur."

"No, well, I never thought I'd meet a man who would make me say it, let alone the chauffeur." She knows that hours could pass in Tom's company and she'd never get bored.

"How's William?"

"Not good." The joy she felt disappears just like that. "We're waiting really. It's such a shame, but then what else can we do, he's a hero, he saved Matthew's life."

"I heard the Dowager was trying to sort the wedding."

"Yes. He wants to marry Daisy. I'm jot sure she's so keen, or at least that's what Edith said."

"Well, as long as you're keen. Because you know I'm not planning on being fatally ill and dying soon after our wedding." She laughs at that, pleased that he can make her laugh even in the darkest moment. That's what her father always managed to do for her mother so maybe there really was chance for the unusual relationship they'd formed.

* * *

Cora tired desperately to focus on Edward as they sat there in bed, curled together. O'Brien had cleared breakfast but neither of them had moved. They didn't want to, Cora didn't anyway. She couldn't face anything certainly not Isobel now she was swanning around again. Cora knew she should be kinder, Matthew was in a bad way, but she couldn't. And now there was the whole thing with Mary and her engagement, Robert had told her last night and she'd tried not to break down before him. She could guess what had happened: she'd told her story and Sir Richard had offered not money to keep it from the papers but marriage. He'd met Mary before and he'd liked her, or seen the advantages of her and now he'd played his card. Cora wanted to weep, there was nothing she could do to protect her and she was her little girl-or she still liked to think so. And then there was Edward. He seemed to be really keyed up at the moment, ever since Matthew's return and William being up in the South wing Edward had sat up there a couple of times with Edith and Cora did worry it had scared him a little.

There sounds a knock on the door and Robert sticks his head around. He seems to swallow when he sees Edward is with her too. Cora knows that look, it's a look of worry for her and she shakes a little, the realisation that Robert knows she's very upset eating away at her. She feels the build up of tears and blinks them away quickly as Edward turns to her.

"I'm going to find nanny." He climbs from the bed perhaps sensing the discomfort.

It only takes for that to happen and Robert to take one step into the room and she's gone. The tiredness; the upset over Mary; the annoyance at Isobel; worry over Edward all take hold and she begins to sob. He's there before she knows it, pulling her close and wrapping her securely in his arms. She cries into his shirt and she feels like such a child, or the young woman she once was, not almost fifty. His lips nestle in her hair at that point and she tries not to weep harder, in fact, it seems to calm her a little.

"Cora, don't cry honey. I'm right here to look after you. You're supposed to be telling me what's wrong, not keeping it all bottled up."

"It's Isobel really. I know I shouldn't be angry with her, not with Matthew the way he is, but I am, and Edward seems a little scared at the minute. And then Mary..."

"There's nothing to do about Mary. And Edward is fine. He's been worrying about you, that's what he said yesterday anyway. That's why he ate with you this morning. And Isobel, I'll try my best to keep the peace, or perhaps we should get Mama onto her!?" Cora giggles against his chest and he rubs her back a little harder. She eventfully lifts her head and he kisses her forehead. "Besides, I've got a story that will cheer you up. That new maid, she keeps flirting with me, it's ever so funny."

"Well, I don't blame her, you are rather handsome darling. And you forget you're the mighty Lord Grantham, I suspect she's looking for a pay rise." He laughs with her, which pleases Cora and she begins to finally relax, the thoughts of the new, young maid trying to capture Robert's attention. "As long as you promise not to fall for her." She tugs at his lapels so their eyes meet and she blushes when he runs his nose over hers.

"You are far too beautiful darling, no woman can compete, particularly not one wearing an apron."

"As much as I like it when you say that, I fear you're being rude. It's not her fault she was born to the man she was born to, nor is it entirely her fault if she finds you more attractive then she ought." He smiles at that and Cora closes her eyes briefly in some kind of mini prayer, not quite believing how lucky she is to be the woman he chose, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, he'd chosen her, and she was, quite easily, the luckiest woman alive.

* * *

Edith hadn't really recovered from the shock of it all, she thought she had been prepared, she thought she was ready to watch him die. And perhaps she had been, but the wedding had moved her, but then it had moved Granny, so it would have been a real disaster if it hadn't moved her. They'd all been there when he'd gone, Edith herself half asleep on the chair in the corner. It had been strange really, he'd just drifted off in his sleep, nobody, through their chatter really realising he was gone. Edith hoped he'd be remembered, she hoped all the men that had fought and died were remembered. It was like the titanic, the memorial reminded people, she wanted that for these men, who rather than victims of an incident had been trying to save the innocent, desperate to protect the lives of their countrymen. Edith didn't even care what side they had fought for, each and every one deserved to be remembered.

It was weird that the little wedding had once more made her heart ache with longing for a love she'd never had, it made her think more and more of the titanic, of Patrick. Lost love. She'd laid awake at night for the few days since William's death thinking of, hoping really, for a love story at some point in the future. A man like William who cared for her as he obviously had for Daisy. She was beginning not to care if it came along in the eligible form of a rich bachelor. Any man, as long as he was what she wanted, and she was what he wanted in return. She'd heard a rumour from Mary that Sybil had made rather a drastic choice and that she hoped their sister would change her mind over, she hadn't said who, but Edith didn't need to look far, Branson had stolen immediately into her thoughts and Mary hadn't disagreed. Edith was equally convinced that Sybil wasn't likely to give him up easily, she'd go done with a fight, if she went down at all.

All of this had only made Edith want love, any form of man to materialise before her and be just perfect. She knew she was asking for too much and that no person was perfect, certainly no man, but she did so desperately not want to be overlooked but instead loved.

Edward pads into the room then, interrupting her thoughts. He's dressed in his pyjamas his little shoes still on his feet.

"Mama sent me to you." Edith doesn't need to ask any more. Her parents, particularly her mother, had been going through a rough patch and they obviously wanted some time alone tonight, so it seemed she, the single sister, was in charge of Edward.

"Well, I think we go down the library and find a nice book to read and then, we can snuggle into Edith's bed and read until it's gets really late. We could even steal some food from the kitchens." Edward laughs and rushes forward to take her hand pulling her down the stairs. They race through the darkened halls and Edith feels about five again. It doesn't take them long to find one of Edward's favourite books and they're racing up the stairs again, Edward's curls bouncing enthusiastically.

They lie awake until long passed midnight and Edith only prays that her parents don't find out about this. Edward seems to be hyper and they finish the three hundred page book easily.

"Why didn't Mama want me?" Edith had thought he was asleep but it seemed he was just pretending.

"She wanted time with Papa that's all. She's having a hard time at the minute."

"Because of Mary and this man?"

"Mainly." Edith doesn't want to elaborate on the other things: Isobel and Matthew, Edward was bound to pass on any information she gave and she couldn't risk being in trouble.

"I love you. Night." Edith is so shocked she doesn't have a chance to reply before he's asleep beside her, his breathing suddenly that of sleep.


	9. November 1918

AN: Your reviews for the last chapter overwhelmed me! Thanks ever so much they made coming back from my break as good as the break, if not better! So it would be lovely if you'd keep that going as I head back to my normal routine!

This is a major chapter for Edith, and a major AU on my part! I hope you like the character whom I bring to life here. I promised at the beginning of this story a change in plot for all the characters, some more than others, this is Edith's! Enjoy, and please comment on how you like this!

* * *

 **November 1918.**

"It will be perfect for when her ladyship and I are alone." He wafts from side to side in his new evening jacket, the obvious buttons on the shirt had been shocking at first but it hadn't taken him long to realise the advantages of such a garment. Cora was quick with his buttons anyway, but now, now she would be so quick he'd be left still fussing with her clasp while he'd be stood there shirtless. He laughs to himself- it wasn't really an unusual occurrence, Cora was, and always had been rather frantic if you gave her half a chance to be.

Memories of their honeymoon that he thought he had buried beneath the veil of the before and after (of love) flash across his mind in waves and he reaches for the mantelpiece for a brief second, feeling unsteady. He remembers far to vividly, seeing as their three girls were grown up and their Edward a month from being four, the way she'd grabbed him that one night, he'd taken her for an intimate dinner in the hotel where they'd been staying, and no sooner had he turned around from latching the door than she had wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, for a woman who'd only been married a week, quite perfectly. Her hands had been everywhere.

"Are you quite alright m'lord?"

"Yes, yes, sorry Bates. I think I might take a Lady Grantham out one night over December. Try out my new shirt and all!" Bates raises his eyebrows in a half smirk and Robert can't help but be pleased he has a friend such as Bates, because Bates really was a friend. He might be a servant, but really he was a friend.

They both jump from their private joke at the sound of Cora's voice at the adjoining door.

"Robert, what's happening in there?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'm just trying on some new clothes."

"Oh," the door opens and her mountain of dark hair appears in the reflection of the mirror. "Let me see." She steps further into the room, staring at his back. Robert chuckles as he turns to her, realising that from the back it wouldn't look any different. Even when he turns she frowns for a half second, her mouth twisting slightly to the left as her head tilts to the right and then her eyes widen and her hands reach for the buttons she's spotted.

"So my man is embracing the changing fashions. I suppose I have you to thank for this Bates. He would never have decided on such a change alone."

"Actually m'lady. It was all his lordship's doing. He wished for an informal dinner jacket to wear when he dines alone with her ladyship." Bates slips through the door as Cora blushes a delightful blossom pink.

"Do you like it?"

"Very much. But that dining Bates mentioned, will that happen?"

"Next month Cora. After the war has finished and everything is more settled." She scrunches up her lips again.

"I'm not sure I can wait that long, can't I give these buttons a test run now?" Her fingers grace the skin between the buttons and then they seem to slips four buttons open before he realises what's happening. He should have guessed really, she had been in such a better mood since Mama had managed to force, because Robert knew his mother could only have used clever manipulation, to persuade Cousin Isobel onto the course of the refugees and thus take her out of Cora's hair.

"You could. But only if you agree to let me take your hair down." It had always been a favourite of his, Cora with her hair down, the ability to run his fingers slowly, or indeed vigorously, thorough her curls had never been surpassed.

* * *

Matthew couldn't quite get behind the whole end of the war ceremony and thanksgiving that everyone else was. Not only was he forever wounded form the endeavour, look at him, sitting as useless as his daughter in a wheelchair: unable to be a husband, a decent father or even an adequate friend.

Robert's speech was all well and good but he hadn't fought. He may have done years ago. But he hadn't done this war, this life. The trenches, the constant gunfire. Soldiers dying not from fighting but simple disease or food poisoning. It was horrendous he thought that the end of such a conflict was being celebrated- it should never have started. Yes, it was all very well remembering the dead, but they couldn't be brought back.

The clock strikes eleven, and the minute that follows seems to last longer than a lifetime. Longer than the restless sleep he'd had between his being hit and awaking in Dr Clarkson's hospital.

There's only one face in amongst the crowd around him that shows the pain that this day really brings. A maid, the new one, her name is Jane he dimly thinks, is stood beside Anna her tears clearly visible on her face. She felt the hurt, the horrors, how unjust it all was, she seemed to feel what he felt and he lets the tears roll down his face. He forgets the drills of blocking everything out, of blanking every corpse's face. He lets himself remember the running, the dead bodies he'd stepped over, and he lets himself remember the faces. And then, like you're not supposed to, he wonders why it's him that's here, with half a body rather than the sixteen year old who signed up before he had to; the sixteen year old that gave his life. Didn't he deserve to live a hero, even if it was in a wheelchair?

Through the tears of pain, the faces of dead men that he's never let himself see before comes the feeling of, the tingling of, his toes he thinks. But then he lets it go, it can't be. He was imagining it, he had to be, he was a hero, or at least others deemed him so, but he wasn't so much a hero that he was going to be able to live an unscathed life- free from the after effects of the war. No man could ever do that. If they weren't physically impaired they were mentally unstable, even just marginally. The dreams never went away after all.

He doesn't notice the silent stirrings, the stirrings that do not mark the end of a minute silence, but the stirrings that tell of an intruder into their realms. It's only when a strangled cry dissipates from Edith's mouth that Matthew looks up.

He'd seen the man with the blonde curls and the green eyes once before. In a photograph. He'd heard his name a thousand times within a month of living at Downton. The man was none other than Mr Patrick Crawley.

* * *

Edith thought she wasn't seeing properly, still, he'd been sat with them an hour now. It couldn't be, it couldn't be Patrick, not only was Major Gordon- for that was now obviously who he was- had claimed he was Patrick but her beloved first cousin had died on the titanic. But he hadn't.

The story was all true. And, well, how could you not believe it when Patrick was sat before you?

He'd been rescued and had taken that chance to forget the past that his hateful father had pushed on him and lived and worked in America under a presumed name. Nobody had ever known his identity except one Peter Gordon, the Major now pretending to be him, incidentally that was reason for Patrick's arrival, to tell them the truth of the imposter. He'd almost returned once news of Lady Grantham's pregnancy had reached him, but then the war had started and he felt England was perhaps not the safest place to be. But now, now he was here.

"There's one thing I didn't understand, why didn't you return the minute you survived the Titanic, why did you instead live a life in America under a false name?" Edith knew she sounded desperate, and she even had to admit to herself that she was. She daren't look at the faces around her, certainly not Mary's she must be rolling her eyes.

"News reached me, after my medical recovery from the accident of Mr Matthew Crawley and his infatuation and blossoming love with Mary." He nods in their direction but Edith doesn't look although she does hear the scuffling, so maybe Sir Richard or Lavinia were currently looking a little shocked. "I realised that she and I were not well suited. There seemed no point in ruining her happiness." Edith gulped, but for different reasons she imagines that those around her. They gulped because Patrick had obviously not heard of Matthew and Mary's failed marriage and his subsequent one. She gulped because of the way he looked her as he'd announced he and Mary had not been well suited- did he also think that she and him had been?

"And now you're here, are you going to go again?" She knows her voice cracks, she knows she stares too imploringly, but he's only looking at her anyway.

"No. I have one final confession to make. I had been planning a return within the next few months anyway. Major Gordon's antics only hurried it. I was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago, I have but a few months to live." Edith turns away, studying her hands neatly folded in her lap, trying to fight the tears back behind her lashes. "I, if your parents will allow it, would like to spend my last months here, where I spent so many childhood days, surrounded by my true family and loved ones." She knows he's not looking at her anymore, but then she's not looking at him, she can't see a thing if she's honest. The angriest, safest tears seem to cloud her vision and make her sway ridiculously from side to side. She thinks it's her mother's arms that catch her but maybe it's his, she's not sure. What she is sure of are the words that are mumbled in her ear.

"I came for you too." It was his voice. Who else could care for her?

* * *

Mary expects it, she knows she does, and that hurts more somehow then if she hadn't. She'd known deep down that he was probably violent. They'd just left the library after Patrick's disclosure and Edith's inability to remain conscious. Mary quite honestly wasn't at all bothered about the relationship that was likely to occur between the two of them- he was going to die anyway. She was sad though, that a decent man like Patrick was to have his life cut short in the same way that thousands of other men had. It was as they had left that Richard had pounced.

She tired to flex her wrist against the hold as he slams her back across the pillar. But she only grits her teeth, she wouldn't squeal, she refused to appear weak.

"I s'pose you're going to try and marry this Patrick bloke now." He spits in her ear and Mary tries not to think of how intimate she's going to one day have to be with him.

"Why on earth would I do that? He's dying!"

"Um, but if you could bear him a baby boy that would make all the difference. Your son would inherit all of this."

"He would not. Edward is the heir, I know you haven't seen him but once, but he's hardly forgettable." He laughs in her face then.

"So they've managed to fool you as well. I should have guessed. She's why you're like you are as it is, sleeping with foreigners."

"Sir Richard-"

"Oh come on Mary," she blanches at the way he drools over her name. "You can't honestly believe that little Edward is your father's child. Your mother's maybe. But come, why on earth would she want to sleep with him or vice versa when they could have any other person they wanted."

"Richard my parents-"

"Say they love each other. But then we love each other don't we Mary?"

"Well, I-"

"Don't we?"

"Yes." She tries to free her wrist again but he only grabs the other one as well.

"No Matthew. That Patrick was talking rubbish we agree don't we? There was never anything between you and Matthew."

"There was nothing." Just a few kisses and proposal, and the fact I still love him. But she daren't say it out loud, terrified of what he might try.

"Because remember Mary I have the power to ruin you and your family. And don't worry, I'll take your mother and that bastard Edward of hers down with you." He throws her wrists to her sides and marches away. Mary feels the all to familiar slither of a tear on her cheek. Movement to her side makes her jerk her head up, wiping it quickly away. And then her mouth widens in a gasp as she sees whom the movement was- Edward, stood behind a further pillar, he must have heard it all.

* * *

Cora doesn't for a second think she can be hearing him correctly. Bastard. No Edward must be saying something else but he's speaking so fast it's hard to keep up.

"Edward darling, stop. What did you hear him say?"

"Bastard Mama. Something about 'I will bring down you and your mother and that bastard Edward of hers' and then before he'd said about 'you don't think Edward is really your father's son do you Mary?' What does he mean Mama?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. He's being rude. Ignore him. I promise Papa is your Papa, and he loves you." She has to put her son's mind at rest, but her own heart is hammering. Sir Richard Carlisle, her likely to be son-in-law was not only threatening Mary behind pillars but dragging Edward's name through the dust. It seemed all the man wanted to do was bring the family down.

"I know and I love him too, and you." He bounces over to the bed and kisses her just as Robert appears. He scampers away with a quick call of 'enjoy dinner.'

"He seems excited."

"He is." She ambles back to the dresser taking the gloves O'Brien had left and stretching them carefully over her hands. She knows he wants to say something, about Edith and Patrick she guesses, but she doesn't want to prompt him. It's better that he finds the words himself and explain his worries, rather then her putting words in his mouth. Besides, she needs a second to think over what Edward had been saying. Not that she realised, there was much she could do, Sir Richard would just have to be treated like any other guest of the house. Mary would probably learn to control him at some point, that was after all the only option they had to protect the whole family from ruin.

"Cora?" She smiles to herself at the way he says her name, softly, cautiously, and her mind quickly wanders to the events of a few days before: Robert's dressing room and his new shirt.

"Yes darling."

"What do you honestly think about Patrick? And Edith, I mean we did always think she liked him, but now, today, I think it was obvious. You don't think they might...because he is going to die after all, and if he did really love her..."

"I think," she strolls over to him pressing her hands against his dinner jacket, "you should just forget it. What will happen will happen."

"But...there could be a child." Cora had tried not to think of the likelihood that they would in fact end up as lovers. Before the war, as she had with Mary, she would have had a fit but now, Patrick was a good man and was dying, Edith loved him, she always had, so there was little she could do.

"I think they're both old enough to take responsibility for their actions. Besides they haven't seen each other for seven years, there's lots to discuss before they get as far as that, if they ever do!" She reaches up and kisses his cheek. Edith and Patrick had always been pulled apart, so naturally they'd fallen together.

"You're right of course, let's take one day at a time. You're always right, which is why I ask you these things." He leans forward and kisses her temple.

"Robert?"

"Yes?" She buries her head beneath his chin tilting her face slightly to kiss the underside of his chin.

"Have you booked that dinner you were talking about?"

"I have. But before you ask, I'm not going to tell you where we are going." She chuckles against his skin before taking his hand as they stride to the door, and dinner.

* * *

Lavinia knew somewhere deep down inside her that she was over reacting. But it was well buried. All that she could think of was Mary and Matthew's supposed 'blossoming love' and the fact she'd interrupted that. Matthew had always talked fondly of his cousin and Lavinia had realised quickly, from things Matthew had said, and what she knew of noble families, that it was more than likely that the daughters of the Earl of Grantham (as she had known him then) had been thrown at him in hope of a match. What Lavinia hadn't realised, or maybe she had but she'd never admitted it to herself, was that more had gone on between Mary and Matthew than she would have liked to be the case.

So, here she was now, like a jealous wife who'd just discovered her husband had taken some mistress and was lavishing gifts on her; with Matthew opposite her, quite defenceless in his wheelchair while she yelled. And now, as she took a breath she was surprised that he was opening his mouth, as if to reply, to respond to her anger- to risk making her more angry.

"Lavinia. I don't wish to be rude. But what exactly is your problem?" She felt her skin prickle in that way it does when pure angry over something somebody says, or in this case; the tone in which they say it, angers you more than if they'd yelled.

"Problem Matthew!? I think the problem is that you lied to me. You said you and Mary had been pushed at each by her parents. You never mentioned any feelings, or God help us 'a blossoming love.'"

"I didn't feel it was any of your business."

"So you don't deny there was something?"

"No. I...there might have been a time when she and I thought it might work out between us. But...the time passed. I found you."

"And you never thought to mention her, mention before I came here that there might have been something?" She can't quite fathom it all in her head, there was something then, the question was, how big a something? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Lavinia, we were engaged to be married. We are now married. I made a choice, you were the choice. Mary didn't want me and in the process of telling me so, she hurt me. Let's just-"

"Did she break you heart? Did you love her? Do you love her?"

"No I don't. I love you Lavinia, and Grace." He reaches forwards and pulls her towards him. But she averts her gaze having caught something in his a second before, a shadow of doubt, a look that seemed as though he was lying to her, that in fact he had, or maybe did still, love Mary.

"But you love her more?"

"Lavinia-"

"I think we need a break from each other. Perhaps I should go back to Eryholme for a while. It is our home after all. I'll come for dinners and things. But I think we need a break." She drops his hands. But he grabs it again, kissing her palm.

"If that's what you think is best."

"Just for a while. I promise I'd care for you, and I will but perhaps I need some space to think, away from Downton and everything." He only nods solemnly and indicates for her to wheel him from the room, which she diligently does. She was his nurse after all, perhaps forever.


	10. December 1918

AN: Thanks for all the support as ever! I was a few reviews and views down this week, so I sincerely hope you're not getting bored! If you're still with me, just dropping me two words is greatly appreciated.

This chapter is Cobert heavy, so to my fellow shippers, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **December 1918.**

"You look beautiful Mama." She was getting ready for her and Robert's dinner out and Edward was with her watching as she put on her jewels. She never failed to be amazed by her little son, he acted as though he was ten and he'd only just turned four.

"Thank you poppet." She adjusts a curl around her ear before she turns fully to look at him, having one last glance around the room, checking she hadn't left anything that was meant to be in her case. Robert had surprised her by booking a suite in the hotel he was taking her to dine and she hardly wanted to turn up unprepared.

"You know Papa is wearing his new suit." Cora did know, but she wasn't going to tell Edward that, not when he looked so proud at having knowledge he didn't think she had.

"Oh, really?" She tries not to blush as her mind seems to churn to he surface all the images of the last time he'd worn that shirt.

"Yes. I told him he'd look smarter in the other one- like a proper Earl, but he told me you preferred that one." Cora knows she blushes this time because Edward's forehead crinkles and he stuffs his hands deep into his pockets.

"Why are you blushing Mama?" She shakes her head and looks down before stretching out her hand to him.

"Because I'm so proud of you my little miracle." She plants a kiss soundly on his forehead as his arms wrap around her shoulders.

"Why am I your little miracle?" He mumbles the question against her shoulder.

"Because your Papa and I were very shocked when we found out we were having another baby. We called you 'our miracle.'"

"Why were you shocked? Mary says people usually know, like Lavinia did." Cora looks at her little boy, no longer really a baby as he stares at her and she smiles again.

"It's complicated my darling. But we thought we were too old to have more children."

"But if children are given by God why did you think you were too old? Surely he gives to whomever he thinks will be a good Mama?"

"Um, but usually he chooses young people first. Your Papa and I thought we were no longer on the list, as it were." He frowns at her again, his little forehead creasing.

"But you're happy with me?" She feels the tears before she quite processes the words he's said; she pulls him closer again, lifting him into her lap and kissing his curls.

"Edward. We are far, far more than happy. Your Papa and I adore you. We love you, every little part of you."

"But Sir Richard keeps saying that-" Cora takes the biggest deep breath she can, if that man had been calling her son names again she was going to have to tell Robert.

"What's he saying?"

"He hasn't called me 'bastard' again, in fact he hasn't said anything. But he looks at me funny. But don't tell Papa, Mama else he'll be angry and Mary is already in trouble with Sir Richard." Cora sighs but kisses his cheek, her little miracle really was so much wiser than any other child of his age. She doesn't want to worry about the fact that Sir Richard and Mary are obviously not well suited: Mary as always had got herself in a mess and there wasn't much any one but her could do to get her out of it. But she'd have to keep an eye on him being rude to Edward.

A knock sounds at the door just then and Robert enters, his black tie on a slight skewed angle, no doubt due to Bates being away (his wife had just died, Cora had been told it was suicide, but well...Bates had once been violent).

"You look magnificent darling." She blushes and buries her cheek in Edward's hair, but he jumps down and scampers to the door with a hurried wave and a kiss. Robert strolls over to her, and as she stands and turns one last time to check her reflection his hands slide into her hips, a kiss finding its place to the nape of her neck. "You don't need to change anything. You look, as I said, gorgeous."

"You don't look too bad yourself." He chuckles at that before taking her hand and propelling her to the door.

* * *

Sybil hadn't realised that she'd been waiting for this day, the day they stood together and decided on the date. The date of their departure. They'd go after Christmas. She had desperately wanted to tell her family but she couldn't not with all that was going on, Patrick, Matthew and now Sir Richard. She was better to just slip away as unnoticed as she could. She knew it wouldn't go unnoticed after a time and that they would come after her, try to find her, but at this moment she couldn't bear to tell them. She was firstly too desperate to be going with the plan, to be getting ready to marry Tom and because she dimly realised, somewhere deep down inside of her; she was scared of telling them- she was scared of their reaction. She knew whatever they said would never change her mind but she did love them and she hated the thought of leaving knowing they disagreed, she'd rather cut and run, never remembering their stares or harsh remarks.

"We'll meet in the lane, on the south of the estate, yes?" He nods vigorously but there seemed to be something haunting him, she can see it in his eyes. "What is it?"

"I don't want you falling and getting hurt or something. I'd never forgive myself."

"Tom, I've walked those roads a thousand times, since I was a little girl. I'll be fine." He still doesn't look convinced but he still nods. "You're not sure are you?"

"No, I love you and I couldn't bear for something to happen."

"Tom, is there any way, anything I could do that would convince you that I'll be fine."

"Not really, but...but...never mind." She tilts her head at him thinking she knows what he was going to say, and unlike last time he'd tried she's sure she wouldn't turn him away this time, she's sure she'd let him.

"You want to kiss me?" She steps closer towards him as she looks up from the ground, placing her hands over his folded ones where they sit on his chest. His gaze meets hers and he's blushing. The realisation that she had guessed correctly makes her blush.

She always thought she'd hesitate when they did this the first time, but she doesn't. If anything he's the one that hesitates. Her fingers tangle in his hair quickly, her whole body pressed to his as she stands on her tiptoes desperate to cover his whole mouth with her own. It seems perfectly natural to part her lips to his inquisitive tongue. She does surprise herself when a faint murmur escapes her throat as his tongue explores places she never knew would feel so good.

Her mother had always told her that you'd know when you'd found the right man. Obviously that had never been a free rein to go as kiss thousands of men just to find the one that 'worked.' But now she knew, she'd known for some time that Tom was her man. The kiss had just confirmed that; she was desperate for more; she knew she had that twinkle in her eye that she sometimes saw in her mother's after Papa had kissed her on the cheek, or very quickly in public and Sybil knew: Tom was her man and she'd never want any other.

* * *

Edith sat trying not to look at him. He was waiting. It was strange, she'd waited all this time for a man to make her an offer and now that one had, one that she did love, she didn't know what to say.

"Edith, you don't have to make a decision now. It's a big thing I'm asking, it would be without the unusual circumstances." Edith thought back to William and Daisy. The way Mr Travis had to be bribed into marrying them- wouldn't the same apply to her and Patrick, he was dying after all. What in any case was the point in marrying him, only really to protect any children born and they could avoid that, surely?

"It's not that I don't want to-"

"You just worry about what people will think of you marry a dying man?"

"No, I just why do we have to marry? Why can't we just...just be lovers?" He stares at her, his eyebrow raised and he reaches his hand forward to take hers before his lips curl into a smile.

"So, it's definitely not what people think that's worrying you."

"The war has changed me Patrick. I nursed our footman, he was dying but he was determined to marry Daisy, the kitchen maid. It was all such a hassle. And for us, Mama and Granny will persist on a grand wedding and we don't have time for that." He chuckles as she curls her fingers quickly around his.

"I never thought I'd hear Lady Edith Crawley propose that we go about things in an unorthodox manner."

"It's funny, our lifestyle. Men have mistresses all the time, and nobody calls it wrong, but for an unmarried woman to take a man into her bed-" He leans forward and she stops talking, his breath falling on her lips as his forehead hits hers.

"Edith, we'll be careful, I promise." Her hands automatically rise to his shoulders, smoothing invisible creases.

"I never doubted that Patrick."

"We won't move too fast either. You are in charge; always." She moves her hands closer to his neck, twisting the ends of his curls.

"Kiss me." She hardly hears herself say the words she mumbles them so quietly. But with the small space between them it seems to echo and then his lips touch hers, very briefly. So briefly she barely realises it has happened until the feeling passes and he pulls away.

* * *

Mary knew she shouldn't be tempting fate. She knew she shouldn't be sitting before him on the bench. She shouldn't be laughing at his jokes. Not when Sir Richard was in the house, probably watching her. But she couldn't help herself not when Matthew needed someone to talk to, Lavinia after all had returned to Eryholme.

"I'm not sure I could trust myself alone with you if I didn't know you were engaged to Richard." The very mention of his name makes her shiver. Not only was he threatening her he had started on Edward, and my, that really wasn't fair, he was only a child.

"You being married doesn't bother you then?" He opens his mouth as if to speak, his gaze falling to the band of gold on his finger. Had he momentarily forgotten?

"I-" And then the tears fall down his face and she doesn't know what to do. He sobs for some time while she just rubs his back, not saying anything, goodness she'd cried enough recently to know that sometimes you just don't want anyone to say anything. "I know it should bother me and it does. I love Lavinia, or maybe I was pretending I did, I don't know. I just...she hates me at the moment. She doesn't deserve me that's for sure."

"It's too late now." It was, they'd both made their decisions and Matthew was lawfully stuck to his and as for her well, it was either Richard or nothing. And when he could give her everything there wasn't much competition.

"Oh Mary, what happened to us?" He looks so imploringly at her, like a puppy and she smiles taking his outstretched hand.

"We danced but never managed to collide Matthew." He tilts his head quizzically at that. "It's something Mama always used to say about her and Papa. As girls Edith and I used to ask her about her courtship and how she met Papa and fell in love and she always said: 'we danced for weeks on end, but then you do with every man, but your Papa was different; we danced and then collided.' I never understood it until now." He chews the inside of his mouth and Mary takes her hand from his not wanting to prolong an interaction that could quickly get out of hand.

A silence envelopes them for some time and Mary wonders to herself if his thoughts are where hers are. Thinking of the words she'd just spoken and the relationship those two people had. Her parents were ridiculously happy, they were setting off today on a romantic treat all planned by her father. She couldn't see Richard ever surprising her, unless it was with some big and vulgar house similar to the one he'd just purchased down the road. She wondered if in Matthew's mind all the kisses, all the touches, Edward's birth and various other moments he'd witnessed between her parents were replaying in his mind as they were replaying in hers. But there was one that haunted her above all else. The one in the rose garden shortly after she had turned Matthew down, when Mama had still been pregnant with Edward. She sees them sitting there, exactly where she and Matthew sit now, her father pressing a rose to her nose and talking of her beauty, flirting with her. Not threatening her, flirting with her.

"Is something the matter?" She looks up startled and then her hand whips to her cheek, moving the stray tear.

"No, nothing. I...we should get back." But he reaches out her hand and pushes her back to the bench with surprising force for an invalid.

"Mary, I hope it hasn't come to the point where we can't even be honest with each other. You're worrying about Richard, aren't you?" She doesn't even nod. Her eyes begin to sting and they reflexively close, her eyelids crinkling as they tighten, desperate to keep the tears within. But the sting grows painful and she lets it spill. She lets him see her cry. She begins to sob knowing that the crying alone proved everything. She'd only ever cried in front of two other people, her mother and Anna. Both she knew deep down, even if she pretended differently with her mother, were people she trusted beyond all others. Matthew was one of those. He also shared something else in common with them; she loved them all.

* * *

Robert had itchy feet. He'd waited for this night for some weeks, and now it was here and he was sat with Cora in the new restaurant in York and she looked superb, which was serving to be excessively distracting. The courses they'd ordered over an hour ago were trickling onto the table and the wine and the food was disappearing fast but Robert wanted it to vanish faster. He was being like a young school boy, infatuated by some girl he just met, he knew he was. But he couldn't help it. Cora was just so stunning and more important than all of that, he loved her, they got along tremendously well; they could laugh together, tease each other, they were essentially the best of friends.

"What are you thinking about?" Her bright sparkling eyes glance up at him, her chocolate dessert halfway to her lips. He's sure his mouth opens and then closes again rather quickly. But she doesn't say anything, so he hopes it doesn't.

"You." She lowers her eyelashes at that, a blush warming her cheeks that only makes her look more adorable. "You look very pretty tonight. Beautiful in fact."

"You've already said that at least three times Robert." It was four in fact, but he wasn't about to correct her. "I've been meaning to ask you about that maid, Jane, has she still been eyeing you?" The strawberry in his mouth doesn't taste quite as good as it did a moment before, suddenly turning rather sharp he swallows it down with some difficulty, Cora's gaze finding his.

"Yes. She keeps trying to corner me. At breakfast, or luncheon sometimes I get the distinct feeling she leans too far over me as she offers the food."

"Why is she serving at breakfast?"

"It's only been once, maybe twice when I've been down late, but unlike Carson, she doesn't just stand there. She persists on passing from the sideboard what I want." It had been upsetting him for a while now but he hadn't told Cora, she'd been busy and her frayed nerves, and her state altogether had worried him for some time. And then there was the fact that he just didn't want Jane and Cora to have an argument or something. They'd be better getting rid of her quickly and quietly. He's amazed when Cora starts to chuckle.

"Oh, she really is infatuated! I want to see some of this play out."

"Cora, are you sure-"

"Oh come on Robert, it's like having a debutante in the servants hall. Wafting about trying to ensnarl you." She seems to sense he's not amused because she stops and reaches her hand over to his. "This has been bothering you hasn't it?" He only nods, the dinner that had been going so smoothly suddenly making his stomach churn. He feels the liquid in his eyes and the next thing he knows Cora is around the table, perching herself on his lap. In that moment he's more than pleased he booked for a private section of the dining room, a little screen hiding them from the rest of the diners. He knows it shouldn't bother him, her sitting on his lap, but his childhood, the strict rules in which he'd been bought up seemed to be forever etched in his mind. He lets her slowly smooth her fingers over his hand, her creamed hands so smooth against his callous ones; her touch feather light where his would be clumsy; her hand and fingers tiny where his are chubby.

"I don't know what to do about it. I can't just turn her away, not with her husband dead."

"I want going to suggest you did. I think, perhaps she has some genuine feelings for you. All we need to do is make it clear where your attentions lay." He grins at that, a rather naughty image springing to mind. But then he realises that perhaps they can manage the same ends with a little less of a spectacle, as his mother would say. "Now, I don't believe you bought me all this way and spent far too much money to think about Downton. Shall we dance?" He smiles and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. She slides from his lap and drags him in the direction of the music. Before he fully comprehends what has happened, he'd been far to busy getting lost in her wide smile, she's in his arms, her face hovering dangerously near to his shoulder, as if she's going to lean on him. He obviously shows his disapproval at her position as she smiles and straightens up. "You are funny you know, one minute you're staring at me ardently across dinner and the next you're worried about me getting too close."

"I hadn't realised you noticed me staring." She chuckles.

"When one is being admired by her man, one always notices." He leans closer and she raises her eyebrows but he just lets her perfume wash over him.

"Who says I'm your man?"

"You better be teasing me Lord Grantham." He kisses her cheek and moves them back to their table, taking her clutch bag from the table.

"I am. But I must say I'm tired of dancing. Our room is waiting, and I've ordered some champagne and chocolate." He can't help but be amazed at how quickly his mind had raced back to his earlier musings, and mixed with Cora's giggling beside him he feels like he's on honeymoon all over again.

When they reach their suite on the third floor Robert is amazed when she presses her finger over the lock: her other hand reaching up to grip his arm.

"Robert, before we get carried away." She fingers both sides of his lapel on his new jacket. "I love this jacket, although that wasn't what I was planning on saying." He chuckles and she smiles up at him, her eyelashes fluttering adoringly. "I wanted to say thank you for this, for taking me away. For the dinner, and the room and...yes, just being you."

"You don't have to thank me my dear, it's you that's made me into who I am. And, I love you." He twists the key in the lock at the same moment he pushes her against the door, her lips already pressed to his.


	11. January 1919

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Quite a lot of Sybil this week! Hope you enjoy.

To any of my readers that are French, God bless you, I sincerely hope your family are all safe. My support and love is with you. It is love only that can conquer this, we will, stick together. God bless.

* * *

 **January 1919**.

Edith was suspicious the moment Edward peered his head around the drawing room door so cautiously as they stood talking after coming through from dinner. He always joined them after dinner, it was Mama's 'treat' as she called it. But they all loved it. They all loved Edward. Usually he slipped through he door with a cheeky grin on his face but not this evening. Edith knew there was something wrong and so did Mama. She tried to coax it out of him but he wriggled from her when she sat him on her lap upon the settee. Her mother had given her a look and she'd been clutching onto Edward's hand ever since making a social circuit of the drawing room. In between talking with guests she'd ask Edward how he was but half the time he didn't seem to hear her, his mind obviously miles away. The last guest was just murmuring her goodbye in Mary's ear before she too wandered into the hall to be waved off by Mama and Papa. It was now that Edith seized her opportunity and pulled Edward onto his lap.

"Tell me what it is Edward. You're worried."

"Sybil."

"She's ill." Edward just shakes his head quickly backwards and forwards.

"No, she went outside, by the servants exit, with a bag. I was leaving the kitchen from helping Mrs Patmore." That was another thing Edward did, he helped with the cooking and he loved it. Not that this was the important thing right now what on earth did Edward mean, she'd left with a bag.

"Mary, have you actually checked on Sybil?"

"No. I was going to now. Why?"

"Edward said she left out the servants door earlier." Mary's face is transformed and Edith knows her eyes raise in question.

"Oh my god. I thought I'd convinced her-" Their mother suddenly enters the room and they all stop dead, like three statues, on route to the door.

"Convinced who what?"

"It's Sybil." Mary takes a steadying breath and heads out the door. "You'd better come I imagine she's left a note, it will save me trying to tell you what I'm not totally sure about." Their mother rounds on her.

"Totally sure? What do you mean?" They are stood outside Sybil's door now, totally locked. It's Edward that fills in the gaps for their mother at that point. Anna appears soon after, key in hand.

"I was right, she's run away." Cora's face is a picture and she leans for the wall just as Mary drops the final bombshell.

"With Branson." It doesn't take long after that. Cora is adamant that she wants to come, Edith knows she has to drive and Edward doesn't want to leave 'Mama when she's upset.' And Mary ought to stay at home and try and distract the others from the missing members of the household.

The only delay comes when Patrick is following the well worn path from drawing room to library as they try and race across the hall. Cora and Edward slip down the servants stairs Patrick perfectly ready to believe they are playing a game. Edith doesn't escape so easily.

"I wanted a word. If you've a moment?" She just nods, the keys for the car pressed firmly into her palm so he doesn't see them. She'd been expecting this. He'd visited the doctor in London today and she hadn't yet had a run down of all he'd been told. And then there was the other situation, the private one. Although she'd been the one to instigate the idea of being lovers Patrick had been reluctant, he didn't want to 'ruin' her but now had seemed to warm to the idea just as Edith was beginning to worry. She wanted to talk with her mother about it. But well, it hardly seemed a good topic, Edith was a Lady not a kitchen maid she was supposed to be a virgin for her husband. "It's bad news I'm afraid. The doctor, he said two months at the most."

"But...but...they said six. How can...you're so well-"

"Edith. This doesn't mean you have to make a decision on anything. You have to believe me when I say that just being here at Downton for my last days will make me one happy man when I finally pass." She clasps his hands and then just bows her head. Words seem to churn in her mind. Branson. Patrick. Marriage. Cancer. Lovers. Sybil. And she knew, she couldn't deal with this now. She didn't know what she wanted. All her previous thoughts on her life, her and her sisters life's was falling about around her. First Edward, the war, then Patrick, now Sybil and Branson. It was all too much and she didn't feel like she had anywhere to turn. The person she wanted to tell stood before her, the person who understood her best was dying, he was the person who was asking the most of her, and she had no answer. Not now, not yet. She didn't think she would in time, and that thought; that thought terrified her more than all the others put together. What if this was her destiny stood before her, about to die. Could she let him go without having been with him, having loved him?

* * *

Sybil finds it half surreal that she's sat in the upstairs room of a pub, with a man; with Tom. It had all seemed so easy up to this point. Pack her suitcase- bring minimal amounts, but just enough. Meet him at the arranged spot. Pretend she was ill. But now, now she actually had time to think she couldn't help letting her mind wander to her parents; to the letter she'd left her mother. Her father would never agree to it. Never. But she knew her mother was a romantic and she wondered, she wondered deep down if she should have told her she'd fallen in love with the chauffeur. Perhaps she would have understood and then she could have had the wedding she really wanted, with her mother standing in a fancy morning coat: father by her side.

But then her eyes fall to Tom again and she remembers. She remembers he has a seat at the servants table and he says the phrase 'yes m'lady.' She remembers that he can't afford a big wedding, it was a wonder he could really afford a wife. He wasn't the son of one of Papa's friends. In short, he wasn't what they wanted for her. Tom was what she wanted. And however much she might try and explain she loved him they'd pretend it wasn't true- that she couldn't love the chauffeur. And she did love him, she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. The problem was she also wanted to see her family again. Soon. Far sooner than she thought she might. She didn't care what others thought of her, what the papers might say, but she did care what her parents thought. What her sisters thought. And Edward in the future. She didn't want to forever be the sister that ran off. The sister that his children would never see and only be told bad stories about. And somehow that thought of the future, that haunted her more than anything else. The worst thing was she had a feeling that the image she was seeing of the future was never going to be true. The problem was, she was thinking of her family because she knew in her gut they were coming. Edward had seen her leaving hadn't he? He hadn't meant to, of course but he had, and he would say when asked where he'd seen her. He'd reply 'on the servants staircase.'

"What's the matter?"

"I'm thinking of my brother."

"You're missing him?"

"No, yes...I...I think he saw me-" his face falls, she knew it would that was why she supposed she'd kept it to herself. But she couldn't any longer. And really, really she was having doubts. Not about marriage. Or Tom but about what her parents deserved, they didn't deserve her running off in the night, marrying without their permission. They deserved a say. It wouldn't sway her, but they deserved a say when they'd always been such good parents to her. Her mother particularly had always been there, always stood up against Granny for her daughters' sake, so she didn't deserve this treatment.

He starts to pace, his hands delving into his hair.

"So I suppose they're on their way by now."

"We can't be sure. Edward eats upstairs he won't see the others until later. He might not realise I'm not at dinner."

"Regardless of whether he knows you're gone or not, he will soon. It's alright for you, but what on earth is going to happen to me. No job. No nothing, and likely banned from seeing you." She chews the inside of her cheek, she wouldn't give him up and she couldn't really bare the thought of being banned from seeing him. But she knew her brother. Someone would be at the pub for her within the hour.

"I won't let that happen. My parents aren't that unreasonable."

"Perhaps not. But from their point of view, I've stolen their daughter; made her forget everything she ever believed in."

"You haven't-"

"I know I haven't but they will think I have."

"You really think my parents are so narrow minded that they would be convinced I hadn't thought about this. They do know me you know."

"Really. They really know the fiery Sybil with the strong political views, the woman who wants to fight for women's rights and equality for all. The woman who's willing to reduce her own standard of living to improve someone else's?" Sybil wants to say yes they know that girl but when her mouth opens it falls closed again. Did they really know her? They used to, before the war, but now? Tom was right, it wasn't just women's rights anymore it was equality and she knew that really and truthfully they wouldn't agree with that. Her mother might understand eventually, she thought that she was like her mother, but out of love Mama had kept her strong views hidden from her husband- at most times. But her father, he'd never get it. And that was why she'd run away, stolen away in the night. It wasn't her sisters, Edward, her mother, or even really Granny (she'd make what she could of any situation- Tom's new job would help) but her father. He'd be disappointed, and she couldn't bear to see that look on his face. The look of disapproval- the look that said he utterly disagreed. She'd rather never see him again and remember him how he was. But did she? The truth was better than a lie after all, and she'd left them with a lie, a lie they might never forgive. She glances up at Tom again, he faces away from her, looking out the window. She moves from the bed to stand behind him.

"You want to go home don't you?"

"It's not that I-"

"I know...I know." He's turned to her and he presses his lips to her forehead. "They've just arrived anyway, your mother, Lady Edith and your brother."

* * *

Lavinia hadn't dined at Downton for some weeks. She visited yes, and naturally at Christmas she had joined in the festivities. She'd dined with Isobel multiple times, little Grace in tow. Cora was driving her somewhat up the wall with her constant assurances that every marriage had its rough parts and that she and Matthew would sort it out. It had been a little comforting at first but then as she began to realise that in fact she was perhaps a little harsh on Matthew and that really she desperately wanted him back by her side it was all getting rather irritating. She was therefore thankful as she wheeled Matthew from the library, where they had settled away from the guests after to dinner, for a little heart to heart, to the drawing room that she found it empty. Another reason she was pleased at the sudden disappearance of everyone was that she and Matthew, due to his persistence that they needed to return to the drawing room, had not finished their conversation regarding the position of their relationship. She wheels him to the spot between the fire and one of the armchairs.

"I want to move back to Eryholme, or you to Downton." She's amazed he's the first to speak, she thought she was the only one still conjuring up thoughts of their predicament. She thought when he'd announced his desire to return to the company that he wanted to hear no more about it. As she was so shocked the next words come out like a stumble- ill timed and awkward.

"Are you sure." He merely nods, a firm nod before he reaches for her hand, and for the first time since that day Patrick had arrived his lips touch her skin. Just as she thought the sensation would, it makes her skin prickle, in a good way, in a way she desperately hopes his skin twinges at her touch. The prickle of desire that spreads across the surface of her skin is the same time as that which buried itself within her veins beneath the layers of protection. A stark reminder of what they had before. If he senses her strange discomfort at the intimacy he doesn't notice and for that she's relieved, after all, they couldn't be lovers anymore, she had to stop her body from cravings those attentions.

"It's time we built a proper life, or as proper as it can be for little Grace." And just like that, that speckle of doubt that somehow had always sat at the back of her mind, and had in recent weeks engulfed it, but tonight had so far dwindled to insignificance. That speckle it illuminates again, catches alight. 'For Grace,' not for their marriage or love, for her, his wife. No, for Grace. It was lovely, truly adorable that he loved their daughter and wanted the best life for her, goodness it meant almost the whole world. But not all of it. It was a sprinkle of doubt that had blown out as quickly as it came but it always rested in the back of her mind, ready to be ignited.

The rest of the evening passes somewhat in a blur, but Lavinia knows something is up. Cora, Edith and Mary seem to huddle, even if they stand a good few feet apart whispering in some fashion as soon as the former two appear, which is quite some time after Mary, with awkward excuses of their whereabouts. Robert is oblivious. It's all rather uneventful for her, until standing to collect the book she left on the opposite table she stumbles on the carpet. A hand encircles her wrist.

For a split second she thinks she must be imagining the shape of those fingers over her pulse. The feel of his skin on hers. She must be imagining again, trying to dream of the touch she knows she can not have. It must be Robert's fingers that hold her firm. He could have reached her in time. Whereas the man she hopes it is, he can't stand.

All these things race across her mind in half a second. The time it takes for her to turn her head and her mouth to fall open into the perfect 'O' that mirrors the one before her, and likely, if the hush gives anything away, by everyone in the room.

It's then, as she glances down her eyes taking in the sight of his straight legs, albeit slightly trembling, that the tears seem to fall onto her cheek, silently. And, as he sits back down in his chair at the assurances of the collection of voices all around her, and she kneels in front of him, he takes her hands, and he looks only at her. The speckle of doubt in her mind, vanishes.

For now.

* * *

Mary isn't sure what's worse: Richard's grabbing at her arm the moment she leaves the drawing room after Dr Clarkson's explanation as to Matthew's remarkable recovery or the fact Matthew had stood at all. It was Richard all over that he first time something joyful happened in the house he would be pressing for the date of the wedding. The war was over now and Mary knew she had nothing to hide behind. The only shred of hope at holding the event off was Sybil's impending decision. At least Mama and Edith had retrieved her. The problem was she really did feel like she was losing out now not only did she love Matthew (she'd finally admitted that fact to herself) but he was now healthy and could offer all that Richard could offer. She knew also that it meant he was going to be trying ever harder to provide everything she might want, to make it next near to impossible for her to turn him down. The ironic thing was Richard was a man who wanted to make a profit, her story would make him that profit, yet, he didn't want it. He'd rather annoy her, play a game with her, make her utterly dependent on him. She was his prey. And she had fallen for it, she didn't want to wriggle from his grasp, she didn't want the shame, the story. And she hated that more than anything.

"It wasn't just the wedding date I wanted to speak to you about." He still has her cornered at the bottom of the stairs. She turns her gaze up to him. She doesn't answer, she doesn't give him that pleasure. "I want your opinion on decor for Haxby Park."

"Why?"

"Because we will live there when we marry and I suppose you ought to have a say in what it looks like. Can't have you running back to Downton, can we?" He sneers at her.

"Well, it's you that has the money I fail to see why you're asking me. You've never asked my opinion before."

"Mary, don't me sound worse than I am. I ask your opinions. I am now. I have plenty of my own ideas, but I want yours, will you come and take a look?"

"Well, it's much like Downton, a round gallery. Big rooms. But don't you think it's a little close to Downton for your liking?" She cocks her eyebrow at him, pleased to finally have one back on him.

"It might only be for a short time. You might grow bored of your Mama's dinners and then we can move."

"And what happens if I don't grow bored of Mama's meals?"

"One problem at a time Mary. I need to get you down the aisle first." What with Matthew might have been a joke is a threat when it comes from Richard's mouth and he leans over her again, she takes a step back, into the banister. She tries to tilt her head away as he leans still closer, his intention suddenly very clear. She tilts to give him her cheek. "Don't shy away Mary. It's just a kiss. You'll have to have me in your bed one day." It's a relief he kisses her, as it allows her to swallow the bile that gurgles in her throat. Not that it totally goes away, how could it when a man like Sir Richard had his mouth pressed to hers. She swallows the need to wipe her mouth when he pulls away.

* * *

Matthew thought the knock might be the doctor come to apologise yet again for his mistake. When he hears Bates talking so politely, as if to a woman he suspects Lavinia and briefly, oh just so briefly Mary. It comes as a shock therefore to have Cousin Violet stood before him, quite filling his bedroom doorway. He goes to stand up, a wave of feeling shifting through his legs as he makes that decision, so, his nerves really were working again. But Violet gestures for him to remain seated and instead, pulling a chair rather closer than Matthew finds comfortable begins what can only be classed as a speech he never thought he'd hear her make.

"I'm don't often talk of the heart, as it is seldom helpful to do so, but I appreciate it is not solely there for the function of pumping blood. And I know all too well the feeling of it broken. Mary's heart I believe is broken-" Here he opens his mouth to speak, if Violet was about to try and make him chase Lavinia away she really did have another thing coming. "No, don't interrupt, let me finish. I don't blame you for breaking her heart I believe she probably broke her own. But far worse than all that is the situation she now finds herself in. She is, I believe attached to a man she has neither regard for nor, does he have any appreciation for her."

"Cousin Violet, I don't wish to be rude. But surely this speech is directed at Mary?"

"I haven't really got to the point yet."

"That's very unlike you." She grins at him.

"Yes yes. Sir Richard is using her Matthew. We've all tried to persuade her out of the engagement, she has listened to nobody. But she will, I think, listen to you."

"So you wish for me to try and persuade her?" He can't help but smile, the Dowager Countess wasn't half a plotter. His companion merely nods her head. "And what if, by some stretch of everyone's beliefs, she likes the man and wants to marry him?"

"She doesn't. But I believe the man has her hands tied. He knows something and is threatening to publish it. The price for his silence is Mary." He knows his brow crumbles at that what on earth could the man know of Mary, or the Crawley family that was worth publishing? He opens his mouth to ask just that but Violet's mouth twitches. "All I will tell you is that's it's a scandal. One that would ruin the whole family. Mary most of all." That seals the deal for Matthew, he never liked Sir Richard much, from what he'd gleaned of the man he certainly wasn't good to Mary and this reason Violet was throwing about, some scandal, seemed like just the thing that would keep Mary firmly at his side. He was bullying her. And my, Matthew had been to hell and back with the war, he wasn't about to let an enemy into his family's household; Mary's bed.

"You do know I'm only doing this because I don't like the man. I have no ulterior motives. Only that. I'd like him gone as much as you would. But, if I uncover any partiality on Mary's side, the deal's off."

"I'd expect no less." She stands, but just as she reaches the door she turns. "But you needn't lie to me Matthew. You might be trying to tell yourself you have no ulterior motives, but we both know you do. The heart once touched is difficult to retrieve."

* * *

Cora felt awkward as she lay in bed, Robert watching her. His hand was already snaking over her stomach trying to find the places she would squirm. She tries not to react. Tonight wasn't the night, not when there was all that needed to be discussed over Sybil. She reaches for his hand, stilling it on her abdomen. He peers up at her with a boyish frown on his face that reminds her only of Edward and she almost leans forward and ruffles his hair but she manages to refrain herself.

"Is something the matter?" He sits up now, falling onto his own side of the bed, back flat against the headboard as he watches her.

"I don't know how to put this nicely, but we have some talking to do, about Sybil."

"Why now, what could have happened when she's ill? It's not serious is it?" He jumps from the bed suddenly, his hands flying for his dressing gown. She chuckles slightly but then holds back, Robert was never one that liked being laughed at, it took some time for him to get used to her teasing him.

"The point is darling." By this point he's clambered back into the bed and is watching her intently. "She's fallen in love."

"What!? Cora you must be joking she hasn't said-"

"With Branson." The wind seems to howl considerable louder than it had been before at that point. He climbs from the bed again and paces the room, his hand combing through his hair. She'd seen him do this only once before, just after his father had died she'd awoken to him doing this pacing in the middle of the night. He deemed Sybil's predicament drastic, as did in many ways Cora.

"And what does she expect me to do for her? Money? A house? Well, she's got another thing coming! She won't be spoilt any longer! I've forked out money on her education, her life and she's going to throw all that away. Throw away a life many dream of, she must be mad!"

"Robert-"

"I won't hear it Cora. I don't want to hear you say 'but she loves him isn't that worth something?' Because quite honestly, yes, it's marvellous, but I imagine far harder in lesser conditions than our own." She rolls her eyes at that, she had always struggled to make him into an open romantic even if, simmering beneath the surface was a fire that many didn't know existed. Robert ran on love, really. It was why he was angry now, he felt like Sybil was betraying that bond. And well, she had always been his favourite. "I'm going to go and speak with her. And as for Branson. He can go."

"He's left already. He's staying in the village, until he hears more."

"I should think so the filthy man. I've been paying him, and for what, to seduce my own daughter." His voice seems to crack and he marches to the window.

"Robert-"

"What!?"

"I don't want to let her go either. And I agree, I wanted much more for her. But she's a free spirit we've always known that. And I believe that she and Branson do love each other. I don't think he's corrupted her. And she won't be swayed from her resolve I can assure you." He doesn't say anything to that just remains staring steadfastly out the window.

"One thing I'm not quite sure about is how on earth you found out about all of this?" She almost tells the truth, she does, but then she thinks of Branson, of the way Sybil had kissed his cheeks before they left the pub, promising this wouldn't change anything and she knew she couldn't blacken Branson for Robert.

"Sybil told me." He only huffs at that, no doubt angry that there indeed seemed no way in which Sybil was going to extracted from the man's grasp. "It could be worse. He could be like Jane, only looking for the advantages your position might offer her and her son."

"Cora we don't know she's looking at me like that, she might have genuine feelings. And, speaking of her, she's a matter we've got to sort out."

"I know, but my point is, Branson is not going to gain anything from the relationship. No money, no position-"

"And therefore he is honourable." He whispers the words and Cora barely hears them above the blowing of the curtains.


	12. March 1919 l

AN: An early update as I'm out all day tomorrow. Hope you enjoy this one, it may or may not have a nasty cliffhanger! And those of you that note the date may have images of blood and coughing come to mind! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **March 1919.**

Edith was sad, upset, yes. She had cried. She'd worn her black and she had cried. The coffin had been lowered into the ground, his name engraved on top, just as he had wished. There was no mention of his suffering, he hadn't wanted that. 'I don't want the 'C' word to be on my gravestone. I don't want people to pity me,' that's what he'd always said and Edith had honoured that. How could she not when she had been his lover? Even if it had only been twice?

It hadn't been that she hadn't wanted too but he'd grown too ill too quickly after she'd taken the gamble. Her mother knew it had happened, whether she approved was an entirely different matter, a matter that didn't matter. There was no baby, they had made sure of that and so now, now she was alone.

With Sybil's great adventure likely to take off any day; she'd been packing and having new dresses made (the wedding being planned in Dublin for late May) Edith was losing her sense of where her place was within the household and more majorly the sense of what her life meant. During the war she'd found her purpose but she'd felt as if it was slipping away when Patrick had reappeared in her life and that had taken over for a time, but he was gone now. Therefore, she needed to find herself some sort of occupation, some sort of activity that was going to keep her from disappearing into a void that was fast approaching.

"Mama, what are you doing in here?" The library was usually vacated of people at this time of the day, certainly her Mama. This was the time of day that Mama spent wandering the grounds with Edward and playing all sorts of games. They'd had a full family hide and seek the previous day.

"Your father has taken Edward on his rounds of the farmers this morning." Edith replaces her book on the shelf but doesn't say anything. She knew her Mama was going to find it hard to let Edward go this soon, particularly when he'd be off to Eton at thirteen. Edith knew it was wise, her father wasn't getting any younger and Edward had to have an idea of how things worked if the estate was ever going to survive. He'd have Matthew's support without a doubt but Edith was well aware Robert wanted to leave his legacy on his son.

"I know Robert wants him to have an idea of his future. But he's still so young. I wasn't learning this kind of detail about my future at five."

"That surprises me. I thought Grandmama would have been all for getting you to read about the English aristocracy."

"She probably was, but father was not." Edith pads to the settee, it wasn't often she heard much of her mother's past. She never talked of herself and as a young girl Edith and her sisters only ever asked how she had come to meet Papa and fall in love. It always sounded like a fairytale when their mother told them: the blue dress, Papa spilling champagne and Mama diving to mop him up while Papa glances around nervously. But her life before England was sketchy at best, Edith often wondered how much her Papa even knew of it.

"You were closer with your Papa?"

"Does that surprise you? You have seen my mother haven't you Edith?" Edith chuckles as her mother does. "The truth is, I was very close with him. It hurt me above all else when I thought he was disappointed in my choice of your father."

"He didn't like Papa? Even though you loved him?"

"He warmed to your father quite quickly but never to your grandparents. I was his little girl and he dreaded losing me, just as your father dislikes the thought of losing you." Her mother hands clasp around her own, her eyes staring imploringly into her own and Edith realises it's not just the physical loss it's the thought of losing her in grief that worries her parents as well. She leans over and kisses her mother's cheek as she stands.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know you're sad about Patrick poppet but-"

"It will pass Mama, the most important thing is I know I'm a better person for having loved him."

* * *

"Mary?" His voice stretches out of the darkness and she whirls around her eyes cast downwards looking for him. She doesn't see him at first he's so well hidden behind an arch in the empty hall. The truth was she was shaken by his whisper, Sir Richard could still be seen retreating up the stairs, her wrist still throbbing where he'd grabbed. She covers the mark on her wrist with her other hand as she lets them swing in front of her. Edward finally steps from the folds of the shadow his arms crossed in front of him. He looks twice his age, maybe even three times his age, the expression on his face a copy of one of their fathers. "Why do you let him grab you like that?"

He'd seen.

That's all that her mind can process for a moment. Edward, her innocent brother had seen, and heard at least some of why had been exchanged between her and Richard. Her thoughts speed up after that and she scans the hall for other listeners before moving closer to Edward, who refuses to move from his place: it seemed he was as stubborn as all the other Crawley's.

"That's how Richard is sometimes. But we get along well." She hopes her lie is imperceivable to someone as innocent as her brother.

"But shouldn't you love him?"

"Marriage isn't necessarily about love Edward. In our realm of life it's about convenience, power and quite often money."

"Ma and Papa's isn't like that."

"Not now it's not, no." Mary turns away to the stairs, desperate to leave the conversation behind. It was terrifying for her to think that Edward, her own brother, her five year old brother seemed to realise she was barking up the wrong tree, that she was unhappy.

"What do you mean?"

"Ask Papa. But will you promise me you won't tell either of our parents what you saw?" He slowly nods his head, no doubt more scared by the step towards him she has taken, one that mirrors Richard's one to her, and the harsh whisper of her voice. She regrets her actions the moment he steps away and dashes up the stairs; she'd no doubt wounded the relationship she had with her brother forever. She don't like to admit to herself that the source of all her problems was Sir Richard.

* * *

Cora clutched at his arm, the cold seeming to whistle beneath her skirts and make her shiver. Her head seemed to pound and the ground went through phases of becoming blurred as her head spun. He was talking of something as they walked on their familiar route to the little bench. He eased her in that direction and she thankfully flops onto the bench, the view spinning once more as she does so.

"Cora sweetheart, are you listening?"

"No, I...I'm sorry. My head aches a little, I think I'm rather tired."

"I apologise wholeheartedly, I'll let you get some sleep tonight." He kisses the side of her face, just below her ear and Cora chuckles. It was true, they'd been having very little sleep for the last few nights, They couldn't seem to lie in such close proximity without one of them losing control.

"You'll have to sleep in the dressing room for that to be possible. Now, what was it you were saying?"

"Jane. It's getting worse. I had two instances in the last three days. Yesterday she dropped her apples right across the path while I was on my early morning walk. And two days ago she leant right over me at luncheon when she served the dessert. I can't cope with it anymore. That's why I've been a little over the top these last few nights I think. I have nightmares otherwise, of her cornering me and-" Cora would laugh, he sounds like Edward sometimes does after a bad dream, but she refrains, she knows Robert really is concerned about the situation.

"Have you told her to stop?"

"Not in those exact words. But I've talked of how fond I am of you and how lovely you are but it doesn't seem to have worked. We're going to have to be direct."

"I was rather hoping you wouldn't say that, it's so harsh to hurt someone's feelings deliberately."

"Tomorrow in the library. After breakfast. We'll call for tea, she'll bring it and the we'll kiss or something." His hands knot together in his lap. She reaches over and unfolds them, clasping onto them tightly before leaning up and pressing her lips to his own. He doesn't respond as she expects so she presses more insistently, having to reach for the back of the bench for support as her head begins to spin with dizziness, not from the kiss but from the fever that she doesn't realise is taking hold.

Neither of them notice her as she walks past, her eyes trained firmly on the ground, a new resolve, a desperate need, pounding through her veins. Circling as fast as the fever circles in her rivals arteries.

* * *

Sybil found it more than strange to hear another woman's shoes clopping along beside her as she ambled along the cobbles. She found it still more discomforting to realise it was her sister, her favourite sister, walking a good four paces behind her that generated the clicking. Reality seems to finally be catching up with her in the pattern of the shoe taps. It was unsettling to realise that she'd thought about what it would be like to leave her family behind, but she'd never comprehended that her decision would cause such a rift. She'd expected an unsettling reaction from her family, mainly from her parents, and indeed, her father had made strict stipulations about seeing Tom, hence Mary accompanying her to the pub now. Her mother didn't seem at all bothered, but Sybil wasn't stupid, she was upset beneath it, yes, she liked that Sybil had a love match but this wasn't what she raised her daughter for. But Mary's reaction, the person who had known for some time, was strange, she was suddenly distant not wishing to talk with her. She slows her pace a little and sure enough Mary doesn't notice, lost in whatever trance she was in, and stumbles right into her.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean, 'What is it?'?" Mary's face wears the scowl that Edith often thought was permanent.

"Why are you so distracted? Something is bothering you, isn't it?" She clutches at the clasp on her handbag and bows her head, her bright red hat slipping slightly on her curls. She merely shakes her head and taking a breath turns back to Sybil.

"It's nothing. Nothing for you to trouble with, you've got enough problems."

"I am bothered though, you're my sister and if it's got something to do with Tom and I, I really-"

"Sybil darling. It's got nothing to do with you. Or Tom." Sybil doesn't have a chance to oppose that statement, tell her sister that she's fully aware she's lying, because Tom appears, his hair swept to one side, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets and his sleeves unusually not rolled to his elbows.

"I thought we might go for a walk in the village." His Irish accent still makes her shiver a little, it was just so rich; she glances once more at Mary, who nods a brief acknowledgement that she agrees to the plan, before she slips her arm into Tom's. "This feels rather posh, to be walking with you on my arm. It's the kind of thing your parents do."

"Yes, and you and I and my parents have one thing in common. They love each other. And we love each other." The rest of the fifteen minute walk passes too quickly and Sybil feels awkward as her sister trails around to the left of them, her gaze fixed more often than not on nothing. She feels guilty for involving everyone in her choice, but one look at Tom again makes her forget all she was previously thinking. It's only as they round the corner of the shops and Sybil spies her sister's reflection in the glass that she realises Mary was in fact watching her and Tom intently, she was staring, yet her eyes were glassy.

Glassy. Tears.

It all falls into place. Mary was jealous. Sir Richard's face and then Matthew's sweep across Sybil's mind. Mary had lost the man she loved, yet she was watching her little sister marry the one she loved. No doubt it all seemed dreadfully unfair when Matthew had been a far more 'proper' choice than Tom.

Sybil says nothing as they begin the short trek across the churchyard back to the house. It isn't that she doesn't want to say something, have some confirmation of what she thinks, but she can't seem to find the words she wants to find. After opening and closing her mouth a good few times she finally blurts a, fairly, neutral opener.

"What do you see in Sir Richard?"

"Enough." Mary was, and always had been rather like her father, Sybil was never anticipated some grand declaration of how much she loved him, not of course, that she did, but she had been anticipating more than a one word answer.

"You mean money, and a home?"

"Yes, and a companion."

"But not a lover?"

"Sybil! I don't think Mama would want to hear you saying such things."

"Perhaps not. But I imagine she would be the first to admit that in a marriage that side of things is important, it-"

"One can life without it." Sybil can hear the tense tone of her voice, and let's the conversation lapse for a moment.

"Mary, believe me when I say I didn't want you angry, I just, you're my sister, and I don't want you to be unhappy."

"I'm a Crawley Sybil. We soldier on." She disappears inside the front door and Sybil slowly follows her, she sees her vanish up the stairs, her red ensemble racing from the voice in the library. Sir Richard was back. He had a habit of calling for random days, today it seemed was one of them.

* * *

Lavinia holds Grace to her chest, rocking her gently backwards and forwards, of course it would happen. Chicken pox was something every child had to have, but somehow it didn't stop her from panicking. Isobel had sat with her and Grace for hours, reassuring her with funny stories about Matthew that Grace really would be fine. Even Cora had taken an hour from her day to come and nurse Grace while she slept. Although if Lavinia was honest the older woman hadn't looked well at all, but she'd dismissed it, putting it down to being tired and Lavinia didn't disagree. She'd heard them. Everyone had heard the Lord and Lady of the house.

Thankfully Grace was beginning to recover, and in the last few hours she'd cried a lot less. The doctor had been relieved she'd developed the infection so early, for two reasons. Firstly was, he said, because 'they itch less when they're younger' and the second was a 'thank god it's that and not this Spanish Flu.' He'd left before she could ask more questions.

"She asleep yet?" It was Matthew leaning cautiously against his stick as he stuck his head around the door.

"Yes." She stands and inches past him, heading for the nursery two doors down. "I'll be back in a second."

He's in the bed when she gets back as he had been the last few nights. It was almost, very almost, as it had been before his accident. They were together again, properly together, as husband and wife. She felt guilty at how much she had been enjoying the revival of their marriage bed. She'd promised when he'd become ill that she'd care for him, that the intimate side of their relationship didn't bother her. It hadn't. Or she hadn't thought it had. Only when she'd got it back a few weeks ago did she realise the effect it had been having on her.

He nuzzles his nose slowly against her neck, she squirms, quickly turning into him. She presses her lips once to his and he sighs, but only a little.

"Not tonight Lavinia. My legs are aching a little, and, we need to get to sleep before those two start down the hall." She chuckles a little at that.

"They're going through a phase."

"Um, and the last time that happened, Edward happened!" She laughs and then slows her laughter, thinking of her own experiences.

"You can't blame them though. They love each other, it's how it should be. We know that, don't we?" He doesn't answer with words, just kisses her softly on the forehead. "And they've built a strong family from that connection, as we will." But his gentle snores already fill the room, his breathing deep. She takes her chance then, as she always does, to reach beneath his shirt, and rub her hands gingerly over the marks on his back, the wounds that were once bloodied. The wounds were still full of bruises and Matthew always moved in his sleep when she prodded certain areas. She can usually stay awake for hours after he's fallen asleep, he always does need to sleep, the exercise still wears away at his legs and tires them out; but tonight her eyelids seem to wilt, a strange dizziness clouding her eyes. Her breathing falters and she gasps for air, her eyes falling closed in a state of fever.

* * *

One minute she'd been sat opposite him at the dinner table, the next she was staggering to the door, her face pale, white. He'd got up as soon as she'd stood helping her to the door, up the stairs. O'Brien had been called and he'd returned to his dinner at her pleas. But he hadn't wanted to. And now, watching the way she thrashed, her brow pouring in sweat, he dearly wished he hadn't. Just in the few hours between her leaving dinner and him joining her now she looked worse than ill, she looked as though she was verging on a corpse.

"O'Brien, what can I do?"

"The Doctor said to just keeping her cool, to drop the fever. He reckons she's going to get a lot worse, he...never mind."

"What else did he say?"

"She was one of the worse cases he'd seen, of this flu. Spanish." Robert knows he stares, one moment at O'Brien, who thankfully turns her gaze and then at Cora. His Cora, who only a few hours ago had kissed him on the bench in the garden. Who just a few months ago he'd spent a precious evening with in the hotel in York. Cora, who just over five years ago gave birth to their son.

"It can't be, she-" But the sobs take the words away, he quickly tries to calm himself, O'Brien shouldn't have to see him blubber.

He clambers onto the bed, falling against the damp sheets as he clasps her hand. Her fingers burn and he retracts the heat he adds to the situation, not willing to let her suffer more at his expense. But her fingers reach out for his again, her nail rubbing at his knuckle.

"Hold me." The two words are a whisper, spoken with three heavy breathes between them but she says them. That relieves him more than anything, she was at least still aware of her surroundings, the voices and the touches at least.

"Cora, stay with me. For me and the girls, little Edward. Darling, we need you." He rubs at her hand, smoothing his fingers over her wrist, he finds her pulse easily enough, it's raising. She doesn't respond with words this time, just exerts the smallest amount of pressure on his hand. It's all he needs, a reassurance that she can hear him, that she's still there and that she knows he's trying to say he loves her.

He thinks back to their morning together, desperate to see if he can see any signs that he missed that might have suggested this was coming. He watches her face as he thinks, the sweating was going down, all thanks to O'Brien's hard work. His hand follows his eyes and he traces his finger down the side of her face, pushing damn curls away. His thumb graces the corner of her mouth, her lips are dry and chapped. It brings his thoughts back to earlier, their kiss on the bench. He'd ignored it at the time, the fact her mouth was just marginally drier than usual, that her hands had never met his body, when usually they raced for his lapel or hair; instead they'd scrambled for the bench. As for her breathing, she'd broken the kiss sooner than he anticipated only for him to find her more than a little short of breath, she'd passed it off as him taking her by surprise but now he knew she'd lied. She'd even felt warm to the touch and removed her coat on the walk back, he should have noticed. He had noticed really, just refused to think anything of it. He curses under his breath and stumbles for the dressing room. "I'll be back in a moment O'Brien, I'm just going to change."

The dressing room door swings open beneath his grasp as he stumbles for his neck tie, tossing it quickly across the room. It's only then when he turns, that Cora's perfume washes over him and he sees the figure stood on the other side of the bed. Her dark hair is loose, her blue eyes shining. Jane.


	13. March 1919 ll

AN: Some more flu and cliffhangers I'm afraid! Hope you enjoy and as always reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

 **March 1919.**

It wasn't right, she knew that, not with his wife ill, and her fiancé somewhere under the roof. But she couldn't much resist it. Neither it seemed, could he. She would've turned away if he hadn't asked, wouldn't she? She wouldn't have stepped into his arms, and been his 'stick,' would she? And she certainly wouldn't have kissed him unless he'd leant towards her first, would she? Yet, she doubted, she thoroughly doubted whether she would have refrained from it. They were alone, and the music was somehow comforting, took her mind off the fact half the house was ill, her mother, his wife included.

Just the sheer fact it was not what they were supposed to be doing made it feel good, and that made Mary's lips stumble, but only very briefly. It was a kiss that proved their relationship was something that really couldn't be buried. Mary at least knew she couldn't ignore it anymore. But just because she'd decided she couldn't ignore it didn't change the fact that really she should. He was married. She was going to be married. Neither agreement could be broken. Not formally.

"Mary-" His voice is a warning, a reprimand that comes accompanied with a grin. It was a tone her father might use on her mother, or vice versa. It was a tone that warmed even Mary's cool heart. "We shouldn't-"

"You don't think I know that. But, we have options. It's not against the law to take a mistress."

"Except, it would be against my morals. I'd ruin two women's lives while I enjoy mine. I couldn't do that. And I don't think, if you really thought about it, you could either."

"No, my parents might not have raised me how Granny might have wished, but they taught me that at least. It's just-"

"In this moment anything feels possible." Mary just gulps and takes a step back, the music going static in the background, the moment gone. Overshadowed, quite literally, by a retreating figure on the stairs. Lavinia.

Mary turns sharply to Matthew, but he's looking the other way, hobbling slowly to the gramophone, restarting the music. But Mary can't quite step into his arms again, not now, not now Lavinia had seen and heard goodness only knows what, probably all of it. She retreats, like a coward before Matthew can tempt her, and hurries up the stairs. When he does turn she's gone, a second shadow on the stairs.

It was strange, she knew, to one minute be ready to hand herself over to a man, a married man, and the next be running up the stairs at the mere sight of his wife. It hadn't changed her opinion on her feelings, or that she wanted to be with Matthew, but she really did like Lavinia. And her morals, despite the fact she surprised herself that she had any, were holding her back. Lavinia and Matthew had a daughter. She deserved a happy lifestyle with parents that were devoted only to one another. Mary couldn't face being the spare part, not really.

* * *

Robert couldn't believe what had happened. Couldn't believe that a woman, a maid, whom he thought he had made it abundantly clear to he had no time for, had sneaked into his room and waited for him, with her hair down, expecting some kind of 'confirmation of our growing love.' It was all ludicrous. No sooner had he turned her away, rebuffed her, than she launched into some peculiar tale of how he'd seen her kissing Cora earlier and her reluctance, Jane thought, was because she didn't love him. It had all become too much, he'd lost his temper and shouted, screamed in fact, before returning quickly to Cora and spying Mrs Hughes' and O'Brien's funny stares. The former had just mumbled that she was sorry it had come to that, and Jane would be readied to leave. O'Brien has narrowed her gaze, obviously disapproving. They hadn't said a word to each other since, apart from 'I'm just getting more ice' or 'I'm going to the bathroom,' they'd been sat opposite each other for over twenty-four hours.

Now, sat beside Cora's weary body, listening to the doctor mumble his agonising diagnosis, 'she'll live if she survives the night,' the dramatic events of the early evening seemed unimportant. The anger at Jane had diminished to annoyance: she'd kept him from Cora when she'd still been conscious. Cora might have even heard him shouting. He could quite easily have missed out on her final words, his own chance to say he loved her. Because he really did. It was strange, one only noticed these things when time was running short. But then since clapping eyes on Cora that first time he'd been rather lost in his thoughts, looking at her, but never quite saying what he thought. He had always kept his feelings cooped up inside, but never more than when Cora was first his wife. She seemed to relax him, but in turn manage to make him close up more easily, he was always afraid of her judgement. Even now, sometimes, he closed up. Didn't want to worry her, upset her, because she cared for him so deeply the slightest twitch makes her worry about his health. It was marginally ironic therefore that when he'd found her flushed earlier, and had subconsciously noticed her breathlessness after their kiss that he hadn't done anything, hadn't bothered to trouble her. He thumps the pillow behind his back in frustration, the wooden chair refusing to be comfortable. Not that it mattered, he'd never sleep, not with her ragged breathing filling the room. Her chocolate curls pressed damp against her forehead, her pale skin an even paler shade of plaster. Her eyes are closed, but he doesn't doubt the blue is a pale, dulled hue, almost grey, the pupil agonisingly dark in contrast. Her eyelashes are wet, with sweat not tears, her nightgown soaked with the same salts.

"You're so beautiful my Cora. So beautiful." He says it quickly as O'Brien escapes the room for her break. She seems to turn towards the sound of his voice but it's difficult to tell, she thrashes all the time, her head tossing from side to side. But at least she wasn't bleeding anymore. Robert had quite frankly thought that was the end.

O'Brien finds him a few moments later rubbing her cheek, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She replaces his hand with a damp cloth which she dips repeatedly into the bowl of ice. It lasts for hours. Him soothing, her plopping the cloth into the ice. The gentle 'clink' each time the damp cloth hits the ice is the only sound, neither of them talk, they don't need to. Each knows the other is thankful for the other persons help, assurance that comes in nothing but silence and continuation of the care each is providing. They both have one sole purpose, to make sure their patient makes it through the night. They'd done this last night, but it hadn't been the same. The twelve or so hours hadn't been the difference between life and death. Tonight; they were.

Cora coughs again, a froth of blood foaming until he tilts her face forward while O'Brien holds the bowl, and wipes her mouth. The residue in the bowl is darker and brighter than before, and there's more of it. Twice as much. Cora blanches again and Robert feels her diaphragm wrenching, her heart racing. A mouthful of blood floods the bowl once more.

They share a look before Robert reaches quickly for the bell rope: Mrs Hughes would come, she had promised to be on duty. Doctor Clarkson had said there might be some blood, her lungs were sore from the coughing, but this wasn't some anymore.

* * *

Edith's heart thumps in time to her feet. She stumbles, twice, but she couldn't pick up her dress, she was too close to bother which such a necessity, she didn't have that time to spare. She storms into the bedroom not bothering to knock. He would be there, he'd been there since her mother had been taken ill forty-eight hours ago.

She's surprised to see the doctor, he was after all who she was really looking for.

"Doctor, I-" She stops, the bowl is wafted passed her and the metallic smell makes her feel faint. Her mother retches in the background, a speckle of blood appearing on her nightgown. She gives the doctor a moment as he finishes his diagnosis. Then they all turn seemingly noticing her for the first time. She tries to avoid her father's eyes. "It's Edward." She hopes to God her mother can't hear. "He's, he's got the flu."

The doctor is passed her and racing down the hall, calling for Robert to stay and her to come. Edith follows and tires to answer in her haze all his questions.

"When did you find him?"

"I was checking in on how he was sleeping. I'd been with Miss Swire and then I found him awake."

"Temperature?"

"Yes."

"Coughing?"

"Not like Mama."

"Sweating a lot?"

"Not too bad."

"Have you removed him from Miss Grace?"

"He doesn't sleep in the nursery anymore." Edith just catches up to him as he nears the room, she reaches for the door and hurries inside.

Edith just watches as the doctor does the checks, leaves some medication on the side and advises constant care. He leaves with a hurried need to see her mother: 'She's really not good, one of the worst cases I've seen.'

Edith tentatively wanders to the bed, sitting at her brother's feet. He was smiling at her at least. She passes him his glass of water and she spoons him some medication before she rubs gently at his feet through the bedding. His blonde hair was pressed to his forehead much like his own mothers, his palms red from sweat.

"Will Mama come?" Edith wipes the hair from his eyes, letting the sweat drop to his cheeks. Mrs Hughes thankfully hurries in at that moment, a bowl of ice and cloth in hand. Her face says it all: she was terrified.

"Look after him m'lady. Your mother would want him-"

"I'll try my best." She wanted to break the news to Edward gently he shouldn't hear it from the housekeeper. Edward thought their Mama was just marginally ill, not dying. Mrs Hughes, as observant as she always was hurries from the room.

"What did Mrs Hughes mean about Mama? What would Mama want for me? And can she not come sit with me?"

"Mama is a lot worse than we thought at first. She...the doctor is very worried."

"Will she die? Is that what Mrs Hughes meant, you must look after me because Mama would want me to live?"

"She, she won't-" But Edith can't do that, lie to him. Their mother might very well lose her life, it was looking that way at the moment. The difficulty was, Edward was the closest to their mother, not just because of his age, he was just closest to her. Edith and her sisters, particularly Mary had always found her a little too motherly, a little too bothered about them, too protective and busy planning their futures. She was perhaps a little different with Edward, he was a boy, a son, his life planned out from his first cry, she was just trying to enjoy the time she has with him, rather than worrying over his future. But the point remained that at this moment, for the first time in Edith's life, she realised what her mother had given her, how much Edith really did love her. Right when it was quite possibly too late.

"You're crying." Edith nods her head at the realisation of his words, she could feel the water on her cheeks.

"Edward, we will look after you. I promise."

"Can I see her?"

"In the morning." Edith wasn't sure it was right to deprive him of a possible last glimpse from his mother, but, well, she'd rather remember how her mother had been, so she wanted Edward to remember her how she was, not, how she was now. Dying.

* * *

Lavinia knew, oh god she knew. She was alone, she couldn't breath. It was the end. There was little her mind could process, but that she could. Like she could remember what she had heard, and seen earlier that evening. She could almost smell the scene it was still so clear in her mind. She'd known. She'd known since she'd met Mary. She'd thought marriage would save her and Matthew. Then she'd thought Grace would, but alas, it was clear, it should always have been clear, Matthew loved Mary. Mary loved Matthew. The ironic thing was, as she felt the life drifting from a limb at a time; she was happy about it. Happy that she had met, and knew the woman that would the mother of her Grace for the rest of her life. Grace had only just turned one, she'd barely remember her, but she would remember Mary, Mary could be her mother.

The door opens but she doesn't turn her head. She can't.

"Oh my god!" It was Mary. Lavinia didn't know what she looked like, she just assumed it must be bad, not much phased Mary. "Doctor Clarkson!" Her voice wafted into the hall before Lavinia could feel Mary's breath on her chin. "Lavinia, can you hear me?"

"Mary." A freezing cold cloth hits her forehead and she pulls away from the chill.

Lavinia knows she says something in reply but she can't work out what it is, others enter the room, but she tries just to focus on the woman lingering above her that must be Mary.

"Look after them...Gggrace and Matthew. I love them both. He loves you more. I saw-"

"Lavinia that didn't-" It was Matthew, a pressure on her hand, a blurred face beside Mary's. They did look so perfect together.

"Mary, love them. Tell Grace of me."

"Lavinia-" It was him again, begging, he'd done that so many times, and she'd let him, because she loved him. He'd loved her, and she didn't regret any of it, Grace had been a wonderful gift.

"Matthew. Save Mary and this family, Edward, Cora, yourrr mum, Robert. From him, Richard. He wwwwants you g-ggone. He'll hurt Mary. And that will hurt you." Lavinia knew Richard must have an alternative motive for courting Mary, she knew that all along. And she knew it really had to do with Edward, she was sure. And Cora. But she didn't know. All she did know was he was going to take down Mary first and hurt Matthew so much in the process.

"Not as much as you leaving me Lavinia. Please, don't go."

"Pppromise you'll save her...If not for your love but for ours. I love you, as I know you do me-"

"I do. I really do."

"So, for me. Ssssave tttthemmm." Her voice becomes lost, and she only hopes that Matthew understood. Her eyes fall closed, she thinks she hears a cry, Grace's cry. She tries to suck in the air, to tell her Mama is here. But her mouth falters, it doesn't seem to open. A sharp stab pierces somewhere inside her. The blurs become black. The crying becomes louder. _Grace. I love you._

* * *

Cora began to sense the blurs of words and faces becoming clearer. Robert was there. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad, was he there because he was guilty or because he was desperately worried about her? She tries to gently move in his direction, only to find she can't, she chokes but is pleased that no liquid fills her mouth. That was the last thing she could remember, a metallic liquid, blood, in her mouth, running over her lips.

"It's alright Cora, I've got you." She feels his hands, she knows they're his, on her back, beneath her shoulders, pressing, lifting. It's then she realises how close his fingers are to her bones, how much weight she must have lost in just the few hours she has been ill.

She feels the pillows pressing close against her shoulders, his fingers brushing hair from her neck and then flitting over her cheek.

"Feeling better than you were?" She nods, and feels his lips graze her forehead. She dimly realises the pressure on her hand is his own, curling his fingers around hers. She hesitates before nodding, still unsure of why Robert was here. "I thought, I thought...never mind what I thought, you're here." He kisses her palm then and she lets her thumb grace over his knuckles.

"You're alright Robert? Only the other night, I heard you shouting, at Jane."

"She's gone." Cora can sense he doesn't want to talk about it. But she also, even in her very weary, light-headed state gleans that there is something else Robert is keeping from her.

"You're not alright. Something is bothering you." Robert releases her hand and stands, wandering to her window, looking out at the morning sun. "Someone has gone haven't they, Mary, Edith-"

"Lavinia."

"Oh my, how's Matthew doing? Little Grace. We must let the girl have a home here Robert. She's barely going to remember her mother." Cora feels her heart beginning to race, and her body warming up again. Her stomach seems to churn. "Robert, ssoomme wwwater?" He races back to the bed, tipping her head and helping her drink.

"I haven't seen Matthew, I've been here or...yes, here."

"You were going to say something else, where else have you been?" He looks away, a cloud shadowing his eyes. It's then she notices how pale he is, how drawn his features are, the dark rings beneath his eyes. "Robert, you should rest, else you're going to be ill too."

"I've been with Edith."

"What!? Why!? Is she ill?" She almost screams out, only she can't, as he reaches to push the bedding from her body, swinging her legs from the bed. The funny noise that comes from her mouth, is a mixture of panic for Edith and also for the pain that seers through every muscle in her body.

"No, Edith is fine." His hand runs through his hair, an obvious measure of his stress. "She's sat with-with-"

"Edward. How ill is he?" It was strange, she'd known, somewhere deep down that Lavinia couldn't be the only one. Edward had been so lucky, he'd always been their miracle. Born so he wouldn't have to fight, born when Cora was so, well, old.

"Not quite as bad as you were, but Clarkson is worried."

"I want him here with me, can he be moved? Or can I?"

"Cora I don't think-" The dizziness was gone. She didn't doubt it would hurt when she sat again, but right now she wanted to be with her boy, if he was to die in her place, she wanted to hold his hand. She stumbles forward, her vision blurring with what could be tears. She feels Robert's grasp on her and she thrashes against it, thinking he's pulling her back to bed. Turns out, he was wrestling with her nightgown. Once it's safely controlled she feels her legs depart the ground as he clutches her to him. "I've never known you wrestle so much against being in my arms my dear." She doesn't say anything just clings to his jacket. She really does adore him, but she hardly felt, with her son at deaths door, that this was the moment to say so. He knew. He'd always known.

Edith is perched on the end of the bed, Edward lying quite peacefully when they arrive. From a distance he looks fine, but as Robert takes her nearer to the bed; Edith's worries for her mother's health dissolving on her ears, she notices his haunted features, the darkness of his eyes, his dry chapped lips. She gasps. Her hands reach forward for her boy before she's even realised she's thought of such a movement. Robert sits her on the opposite side of the bed, where Edith had vacated. She flops to the sheets, unable to hold her weight as a wave of nausea washes over her.

"Cora?"

"I'm fine Robert." She takes Edward's hand that rests on his stomach, tracing her own fingers over his, felling the pulse against her own.

"Mmmammmaa?" His voice croaks, the raw sound of her throat an easy one for her to imagine the feeling of. But a tear forms in her eye anyway, he could hear her, sense her. If the worst happened she was here.

"Yes sweetheart. It's me. Mama's here."


	14. May 1919

AN: We begin now an important part of the story for Mary and Matthew, significantly the former as the house recovers from the flu. An element of mystery surrounds Mary's plan as you shall see, but I would love to hear your guesses in reviews.

I would like to note here, as it comes up again in this chapter, and a couple of people got confused last time. Edward is Robert and Cora's child, Sir Richard is making assumptions about him based on what he knows of Mary. He's assuming Cora sleeps around.

Thank you for all the support this last week, if I haven't replied to you all its because I've been so very busy but I will make doubly sure to do so this week. And this chapter seems to be very long! Enjoy!

* * *

 **May 1919.**

It was reluctantly, my god, it was reluctantly that Matthew Crawley ushered his cousin, all dressed in black, into his sitting room in the house her mother had gifted to him. The house he and Lavinia were supposed to spend their married life. Little Grace surrounded by her siblings. But the truth, which he'd tried to ignore for the last two months, ever since he'd sat holding the hand of a corpse, his wife's corpse, had failed to go away. He couldn't manage. A baby was too much for him, particularly a baby that looked so very much like her mother.

He questioned himself now, as he had a thousand times, why of all the people he knew, his mother included, it was Mary he was about to let into his life. The first person to sit in the same room as him, aside from his daughter, since that fated night two months ago. A night when two souls had been lost.

At first he thought the reason for his choice was clear, it had been what Lavinia had specified, or rather uttered as her final words. She'd been sure, so sure, in those last moments of life that he loved Mary, that Mary was going to be Grace's mother. Matthew remained still unconvinced. It was true he wasn't about to propose marriage to a woman already engaged, he couldn't. How could he when his wife was dead? Dead with a broken heart? But neither could he, after two months, carry on as he had been, Grace needed a motherly figure. Lavinia had trusted Mary, even at the end, after she had kissed her own husband. Mary then, it had to be. He didn't like to let his thoughts wander to all the other reasons he might have subconsciously chosen Mary. Indeed that kiss had been quite, well, lovely and Mary was and always would be the first love he had lost. But that should be all, he told himself daily. She was loved and lost, never to be reclaimed.

"What seems to have coaxed you out of hibernation Matthew?"

"Don't sound like your Grandmother, it doesn't suit you." But he knows his lips are threatening to curl. He crosses and uncrosses his feet desperate to distract himself. It wasn't his fault that her perfume seemed to wash over the whole room, aggravating his nostrils in the process. "It's Grace. I can't cope with...she needs a mother. And I can't be that person."

Her black hat dips, the sleek satin becoming clear to him, her own fingers tie and untie in her lap as she processes his words. He can almost hear her chewing her lip.

"And I suppose you want me to-to help you?" Her eyes fall on his for the first time, and he feels the cold air rush into his lungs. They were so very brown, so very beautiful.

"Yes. Lavinia, ironically enough, would have wanted you to help me. She trusted you."

"A failing on her part." It amazes him that even Mary seems to see the very friendship she had as being rather incorrect, formed under the wrong feelings.

"Perhaps. But nevertheless-"

"There's Richard to consider. He can't know. Not just for my sake but yours and Grace's too." Matthew watches her expressions intently, he was well attuned to the scrunching of her nose and the tightness of her mouth when she spoke, those things meant she was scared, and annoyed, frustrated.

"Does he hold that much power over you?"

"It's for everyone's good Matthew. Don't question me on my personal choices." Her eyes have grown dark, fearsome and he feels himself leaning away.

"I won't let him ruin you."

"Matthew, do you want my help or not? Trust me. I marry him and this family stays safe." She sounds like Sir Richard as she talks, all harsh and condescending, bargaining only for what's best for her.

"Right. Well, I think Grace needs a proper nursery here, like she had at Downton. I thought perhaps, you being feminine would have a better idea of how it should look and even which room I should use."

"I'm not a mother."

"No, but, with little Edward and-"

"Can we not, I mean, it's all so recent. I find it difficult to imagine-"

"Of course, of course." The conversation hovers there in an awkward silence as she follows him up the sweeping staircase. Her hands still firmly clasped on her purse. He ushers her into the room where Grace currently sleeps, in the crib that Cora had allowed him to take. She gravitates there first, leaning over the sides and running her finger over her cheek, watching in awe as Grace subconsciously moves her face in her sleep.

"I remember doing this to Edward, it all seems like yesterday and now...now there's little Grace." She looks up from her ramblings then accessing the room. She takes some paper from the side and a crayon from a pot Lavinia had bought for Grace to use in a few months and begins to draw and label how she imagines the room. Matthew adores it almost immediately.

They spend the next half an hour discussing wallpapers and different patterns. Possible variations in the arrangement of the furniture. When the time does come for her to leave, he knows he feels lighter, less worried than he had before, and she seems more cheery than she had when she's arrived. He leans forward and kisses her cheek as she goes. They both look away, so neither sees the others look of contentment.

He watches her walk away and he knows that he really does need to save her from Sir Richard. Lavinia had been right, that man was holding something, or maybe lots of thing over Mary. He wouldn't allow that, not to his cousin. Not Mary. Not a woman he loved. Because he did, he really did and it was time to admit that he did. Watching her in the nursery had proved something to him. He wanted that, he wanted her to be the mother of the rest of his children, and Grace. It was time to win the love he'd lost back. He knows deep down that's what Lavinia had meant. When she'd said that he was to love both Mary and Grace, she'd meant for them to marry.

* * *

"Mama, can we go outside today?" He looks far more excitable than he did, the colour in his cheeks was returning and all in all he was looking more like the Edward that she'd known before the flu.

"Soon, very soon. The doctor says just as soon as it gets a little warmer." She was feeling even closer to him, if that was possible, since he'd recovered from the flu. And even more in the last week as Sybil's departure had loomed over them and indeed, she was leaving this morning. Her bags packed, Branson waiting. It was strange, Sybil hadn't been her baby, as she had always thought of her as, since Edward had been born. But this morning as she dressed and chatted to Edward all she could think of was the little, premature baby, with the dark hair and the bright blue eyes. And now, here she was about to travel to another country and get married.

"Can I come and wave Sybil goodbye?" Cora is ready to tell him no, but as it happens he's already turned down the sheets and is swinging his legs over the edge. He'd been sleeping in Robert's dressing room since he'd recovered enough from the flu to be moved. So now, he was standing in the doorway between the two rooms his clothes in hand, pyjamas hanging on his thin frame. She closes her mouth over the word 'no' and nods her head.

"Come here then, let's get you dressed little man." She reaches forward to unbutton his shirt. But he pushes her hands away and strides for the bathroom.

"I can do it myself Mama. I'm a big boy." He shuffles passed her to the bathroom leaving her crouched on the floor. It seemed even her newest baby was growing up far too fast for her to keep up. Today was a day of many a loss it seemed.

Edward doesn't take long to get ready and before Cora knows what's happening he's by her side and they're heading for the stairs. Robert meets her at the bottom, taking her hand immediately and grazing his lips over her cheek. Since she'd recovered from flu Robert had become more and more gentle with her, at first he'd had reason, the coughing had taken a long time to go. But now, well, she'd been trying to persuade him into something more amorous for some weeks, but with Edward sleeping next door she'd given him an ideal excuse.

"Ready?" He looks at her questioningly, she can feel the heat on her cheek as he watches her. But all she sees is the cases in the hall, her Sybil stood by the front door with a wide grin on her face. Tom stands just beyond, on the gravel outside, and Cora swallows as she realises the look she sees on the young man's face probably looks much like the one on her own. She reaches towards Robert and clasps his hand. Edward tries to complain as she grips his hand harder too, but a look from Robert seems to silence him.

"Ready." But her voice barely convinces herself, she walks forward, and lifts her head high, trying desperately to remember the lessons her mother and then her mother-in-law had given her all those years ago, about being a proper Countess.

Edward doesn't remain clutching at her hand for long, he runs headlong into Sybil's legs. And Cora watches, as she leans into Robert for support, as their youngest daughter lifts him, with some difficulty into her arms with murmurings of seeing him soon.

Her turn comes quicker than she had hoped and her daughter's perfume washing over her as they share a hug, my it had been some time since they'd done that. She mumbles her best wishes as best she can, with a hope of making it to the wedding, Robert was fussing about her health. Robert takes the opportunity to release their intertwined hands and heads to the door to say a fond farewell to Tom. Robert had been coming round, even murmuring the other night how he wished he knew the man just a little better. Cora smiles agains Sybil's shoulder as she sees the two gentleman shake hands.

"Good luck my precious darling. Write to me."

"I will Mama, I've promised a thousand times."

"I know, I know...but I'm going to miss you. I wasn't quite prepared for all this."

"You will be by the time of the wedding." She turns and skips to her sisters then and Cora takes a few deep breaths and a hesitant step forward.

It was all quickly feeling like a dream. The cases, the car, Tom. Even as her daughter steps into the car a few minutes later and waves goodbye Cora wonders if she's just going for more training, whether she'll be back again in her nurses outfit, the Red Cross proudly on her shoulder. It's Robert's hand slipping around her waist and pulling her against his side, his lips at her forehead as the car disappears from view that bring back the reality. This was real. Her baby was going. Starting a new life. Her own life. A life that no longer involved her mother.

* * *

Sybil could pin point quite easily the moment when her heart had raced just a little faster. The moment when her excitement had turned almost totally to nerves, apprehension. The time from which every word that was spoken with enthusiasm was false, every smile was pretend.

Edward. It had all started when he'd run towards her, failing to slow before crashing into her legs. Sybil could see the traces of his attire that told her he'd dressed himself. His tie, was so close to being straight, but wasn't quite. It made him look twice as adorable than if he'd been dressed by one of his parents or a maid. He always looked lovely. The little jacket tailor made in tweed had that morning been the traditional green with speckles of red. The boots in real leather that matched their father's covering his little feet. His curls were unruly proving still further that he'd dressed himself. She hadn't been able to resist lifting him into her arms. It was then he'd asked about playing hide and seek, the game they'd played together at least once a week since he'd been able to walk, they'd played only yesterday. Sybil had been so caught up with Tom and leaving it had only been in that moment when someone had talked of something other than her departure and wishing her luck and love that she realised how much she'd been trying to ignore what she was leaving behind. Edward had been a stark reminder.

She'd turned to her mother after that, she'd seen the way she'd clutched at her father's hand, desperate for some support. It all began to hit her like waves, how difficult they were finding the thought of being without her, how hard it was actually going to be for her not to see them. Even her sister's hadn't been what they usually were, both seemed distant, as though they were holding back, not sure she was making quite the right choice.

It had passed a little as she'd waited for the car to be packed and stood with Tom and her father, who seemed to be finding some common ground. But then, sitting in the back seats of the car, the car she'd almost always ridden in with one of her family, the smell, the memories seemed to haunt her. The station, where she'd travelled to from for her season, where she'd sat discussing dresses and balls with her mother. Every scene seemed to plague her. It didn't help that Tom sat silently beside her, seemingly well aware she wasn't quite herself.

Thankfully now that she was on the boat, far from any surroundings she was used to she was finally beginning to relax. The tinge of nagging seemed to be better buried but it still haunted her at night, the worry, Edward murmuring his desire to play games.

"You're nervous?" She'd been staring out across the sea, her mind as it always seemed to be, miles from where she was, she hadn't heard anyone appear behind her, let alone Tom. She didn't see much of him, really, less than back at Downton, it seemed his mother was as much a task master as Granny.

"No. Funnily enough, not really. I won't deny I'm apprehensive. I was just, reflecting." She was beginning to have a feeling that she'd be happier once she was properly settled in the final destination. These in between months were always going to be difficult, the transition from one family to the other but not belonging to either. And this, the travelling was perhaps the worst of all, she couldn't even let her mind focus on unpacking, or finding her way around a new city.

"But you're sure?"

"Quite sure. I can't wait for the wedding. I told my parents July." He nods his head in agreement. "I just need to be occupied. I've had months of working really hard, time to think has been limited. And now, I guess I'm doing too much thinking." She looks at him seriously, her own words finally steer away a great deal of the worry. There was hope, a great deal of hope at the end of the tunnel. She finds that hope reflected on his face.

"You're not over thinking. But I'm pleased you're happy. That's what will keep me warm as we cross this raging sea."

* * *

July. He'd decided on July. She breaths a shallow sigh of relief. Sybil had changed from May to July for her wedding. Not that she was about to tell Sir Richard's looming face that. He was angry, oh, so angry, but then it was a rare occasion that he wasn't. Since Lavinia had died he'd become still more on edge and Mary wondered if he was concerned about what the girl might have murmured. Indeed, it made Mary think, really think, about those words she'd uttered, about how Sir Richard was planning on bringing all of them down. Mary couldn't follow it, he had her secret, he could blackmail her, but it wouldn't effect any of the others that much. Her mother perhaps. Possibly Edith, but anyone that knew Edith would know she wasn't at all like her sister. As for Edward well-

"Oh my god!" Her mouth opens, her saliva landing on his face. Edward. That was how he was going to bring them all down. She thought she'd squashed his absurd believe that Edward was only her mother's child. She'd thought her parents actions would have confirmed the situation. But it seemed he was still holding that over her. He was ready, if he had to, to tell Mary's story and make it look as though she got the dirty habits from her mother, who had recently borne a bastard heir.

"Don't spit in my face." He shoves her waist, pushing her against the door frame.

"Edward. It's not just me you're going to ruin. That's what she meant-"

"Who meant?" His fingers dig in harder at her waist and she swallows the urge to scream out, knowing that will only make things worse. Will only make him over her mouth, probably with his own.

"Lavinia. She said you were trying to bring us all down, through me."

"And you believe a dying girl?"

"More than I believe you, yes."

"So, tell me Mary, how do you suppose I'm about to bring you all down?" She hesitates, she so almost doesn't tell him, what happened if he hadn't thought of it, she'd be putting ideas into his head, confirming, or at least suggesting that she believed her brother wasn't her full brother. But he leers over her, moving his mouth towards hers.

"You're going to say I got my habits from my mother and then, that Edward isn't Papa's child." He pulls away, facing away from her. His hand runs gently through his hair. And then, he laughs. His head tips back and he laughs.

"I really thought you were more intelligent Mary. I thought you'd figured this out long ago, when I first mentioned my belief in the true origins of your brother."

"You know, if you really loved me you wouldn't be threatening me with ruin."

"Never have I mentioned love Mary." He swings back around. "But, you still have a choice. You still have the power to save all of them. I thought power was what you liked."

"Power maybe. Not blackmail. I don't care about my story, not any more. But if you bring down my parents, my brother there will be trouble."

"And how are you planning on causing trouble Mary?"

"I'll find a way. I always do." In truth she already had a plan forming in her mind. He wanted July. That wasn't going to happen, not with Sybil. She'd have enough time to formulate her plan for the winter, a Christmas wedding might be something. Edward was going to be her winning card.

"I wouldn't be too hasty. He's a bastard. You-" she wasn't sure if it was the built up anger, the accusation of her brother, or his menacing breath on her neck. But he stops there, abruptly, her hand having come into firm contact with his cheek. She makes her escape before he so much as has a chance to turn back to face her. She dashes straight passed the shadow of her sister in the hall.

* * *

He was more than slightly uncomfortable by the number of glances he was getting. There was always attention he supposed, a man who was well dressed always gained some glances. But today, well, he was, it seemed some kind of God. They all seemed to keep their distance, worried about infecting him with germs, and they were the free men; the guards, not the prisoners. The various prisoners that were being escorted about around him stopped and stared, opening their mouths, thinking he was coming to help them, only to be shoved in the back by their escort. It was all very unnerving. He felt like he was in a ballroom looking for a suitable lady all over again. The looks, the constant feeling of being watched was just the same, the mothers, and often the girls themselves would glance at his attire in the same way, thinking about his title or his features. This was the same, but worse. When the prisoners saw him, every single one had that flash of hope that ran across their eyes and then it was gone.

He hadn't really wanted to come. But, how could he not when Anna had given up her visit to allow him to come and see his Bates. She'd offered, and Bates was a friend, she would have thought it odd if he'd turned the invitation down. After all, it might be the last time, other than the trial, that he would see him alive. And the trial was hardly going to be a chance to sit down and thank him. But, well, the question was, where on earth was he to start?

Finally the endless ambling along routes taking him seemingly nowhere seems to end, and they enter a section of cells Robert is sure he's walked passed once already, in fact he knows he has, seeing the entrance he'd entered through, some distance off between the grating. He refrains from turning to the unhelpful guard and asking him why he was taken such a long way, he knows, the man didn't like having to show about a man of his station. Thankfully, Bates finally comes into view.

He doesn't say anything to begin with, just stares at the man, whom only a few weeks before had been helping him dress. Whom over a decade ago had saved his life. He only hoped he could contribute to returning the favour.

"The trial is going to be around Christmas."

"Bates, I haven't come to talk of that. Not really. I know you didn't do it-"

"M'lord, I'm pleased, so very pleased to have that faith in me. But you don't know that."

"No Bates. I won't hear of it. I met your wife. I never let Cora meet her, there was a reason for that. You, on the other hand saved my life. Saved my family." He hears his own voice cracking, his memories haunting him.

The jab of pain, the scream of Bates beside him. He'd known then, he'd got of lightly, been saved. How little his girls had been then, how thin and hallowed Cora had looked for those years he'd been away, every time he returned he was scared to hurt her. All those feelings he'd felt seem to rush over him and he closes his eyes for a short second.

"I dread to think Bates, shat would have happened if you hadn't saved me. You didn't know, but my cousin, James, was a vile man, if I'd died I'm sure he would have turned Cora and the girls out the house the second he heard. My whole family owe you more than they can fully understand. Cora thinks she owes you for keeping some secret of Mary's but I know it's more than that."

"I'm very touched m'lord, you're not often the sentimental type."

"No, well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I wanted you to know, if this all goes wrong, which God have mercy if it does, I really truly don't know where I'd be, or my family if you'd hadn't saved me that day."

"You owe me nothing. When I came back to Downton, I found all I've ever been looking for. You've given me Anna, just as I saved your life, she's been saving me from different kinds of bullets. I would have worked at Downton for nothing, just to see her. You saved me, that day when you ran out and made me get out the car. That saved me."

There wasn't much else to say, they sat in companionable chatter for the rest of the allotted time. Discussing Anna mainly, and then Cora and the children. Bates wanted to wish all of his daughters the best of luck in their marriages and children, and for Edward he hoped his schooling would be enjoyable. All too soon Robert heard the call to leave and the rattling of steel as the door jangled open, the dismal guard back to escort him from the premises.

It was back in the car, when his thoughts finally begin to settle, his mind turning towards what delights he could find in his afternoon, perhaps Cora was free, or a long walk with Edward, that the driver unexpectedly handed him a folded piece of paper.

"A young lady handed this over when you were inside." Judging by the hurried scrawl of Lord Grantham on the front, he highly doubts it was a 'young lady' but it was a woman's writing undoubtedly: it had a certain swirl to the lettering. He unfolds it and glances first to the bottom, to the signature: Jane Moorsum. He folds it quickly back up shoving it into his pocket. He wasn't going to read it. No doubt it would be full of her grovelling about how now that Cora was better it mattered little what they got up to, and that she could fully comprehend why he'd favoured his wife when she'd been ill.

Unfortunately Robert knew he knew the woman slightly better than that, she wouldn't be grovelling. She would have accepted, like a proper lady, that he had made his choice. If she was wishing to get in contact with him, something was therefore the matter. She needed his assistance in some way.

 _Lord Grantham,_

 _I've been meaning to write for some time, but I feared sending a note to the house in the belief it would make you upset to read my words in your own home over your breakfast. I heard of your trip today and took the morning off work so I could deliver this. I have found myself another job after I left your service._

 _The reason for my writing is to ask for your assistance, if possible, for my son. I may or may not have mentioned my son Freddie in the time I was at Downton. If I did not, the only important thing to know is that he's hoping to get into Ripon Grammar for his further education and I hoped you might put a good word in, I know it shouldn't help, but we both know it does. I'd be forever grateful, and I promise not to contact you again._

 _All my best wishes for yours and your family's health._

 _Jane Moorsum_.

It was a sweet letter, a letter he could hardly ignore. She had loved him, and he had broken her heart, he didn't doubt that. So, he owed her this, he owned her something.

"Brent, can we stop in Ripon on the way home?"

"Very well m'lord." It was best to sort it soon, as soon as possible.

* * *

Edith stayed in the shadows for some time, wondering if Sir Richard himself would storm from the library. After waiting some time with no movement she ambles to the stairs. She'd had time to think, real time to think, and her mother did have to know. Loud laughs come from Edward's room, followed by her mother's distinct American tongue. She stands in the doorway unnoticed for some time before Edward glances up from their floor game.

"Mama, I wandered if I might have a word?" She hoists herself up from the floor, struggling to capture all of her skirt in her hand.

"What is it honey?" She doesn't say anything for a minute, just waits, somehow hoping that her mother is going to guess what the problem is. Funnily enough, she doesn't. "Is something bothering you about Patrick, or Sybil?"

"No, no. Sir Richard, and Mary."

"I'm sure she's got him under-" It seemed her mother really hadn't been paying too much attention, or if she had she'd been blanking the bits she didn't wish to remember.

"She slapped him. He called Edward a bastard." Her mother's reaction was not exactly what she'd been expecting. Her head bows and she looks down, she doesn't get angry. She just nods her head.

"I know. Edward had heard him say it."

"He's said it before! Mama-"

"I know. I know. But he's protecting Mary's...never mind."

"The Pamuk story?" That causes a reaction, a real reaction. Her mother's eyes widen, her teeth chew at the inside of her mouth.

"How did you-"

"It doesn't matter how I did. You must see Mama that a few weeks of scandal is better for this family than the way he's treating her. And as for how he talks about Edward, what happens if Papa finds out?"

"I appreciate your concern Edith, as would Mary if she knew. I'll talk to her, try and find out what's really going on."

"But Mama-"

"If Sir Richard is like I believe him to be, he wants all of us to be taken in, we have to pretend we are." Her mother disappears quickly into the room again and Edith stands still, her conscience still not content.

It was true she and Mary had never been particularly close but she didn't like the thought of a man threatening her, not any woman for that matter. What she hated still more was Sir Richard deciding to pick on an innocent party, their little brother. And by the things she had heard Mary saying, her sister had every reason to agree. Mary had struck some deal, or at least her mother thought so, marriage for the story of Pamuk, Edith couldn't believe her sister could be quite that hard, to strike a bargain of marriage so far from the ideal of marriage they'd been raised to understand. But, that wasn't really the question anymore, Mary had come to some arrangement with him, and now he was here, the question was whether Mary was going to go through with it to protect the family, or think of only herself and ditch Richard only for the family name to be destroyed. Edith wondered which was the threat that really held Mary in place- Matthew after all, Edith thought, would marry her whatever. But Edward's story, that would really ruin the family. Could her sister really be trying to protect all their backs?

She wanders to Mary's room, sure that is where her sister would take refuge. She knocks but no reply is apparent, she pushes the door open. She doesn't really know what she expects to see, but she's knows it's not Mary curled up on the bed, paper scattered around her, a pen in hand frantically scribbling on a sheet in her lap, that she's rested on the mornings paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Planning." Mary doesn't even turn, it seems she already knows what she's there about.

"Your wedding?" She nods her head, still not turning to look at her. Edith gulps.

"So you're going through with it?"

"Edith," she finally turns, her cheeks flaming, her eyes slightly red ringed. "You don't need to lecture me as well. I know what I'm doing. Come to think of it, I might need your help later on. I know we don't always get along, but trust me on this, all will be fine." Edith can tell that her sister wasn't actually sure of that fact, not yet. But it didn't appear as though she was going to receive any more of an explanation as to why 'all will be fine.'

"I'll do whatever if it means getting rid of him-"

"I never said-"

"Just promise me you'll try and make sure he doesn't publish that rubbish about Edward."

"That's all this is about anymore. There was something else but, not now. Edward can't be dragged through the dust. It's not true we know that, most people will know that. But we both know some people will like the story, the thought of Mama abandoning Papa. Headlines about her 'mad American side' and 'The Earl of Grantham's fatal mistake' will be too convincing for them to pass over. And Edward will be friendless, avoided by others, and in the future he's heading for he can't be. He's going to need all the help he can get." So, that solves that, she was desperate to save little Edward, he'd made quite an impression. He was everyone's little miracle, not just Mama and Papa's.

"You're very passionate."

"He's a wonderful brother. If I knew back when Granny was trying to smash the entail that Edward would one day be in our lives I wouldn't have bothered. I couldn't imagine anyone better for the job. He's managed to have the best of Mama, which I'm quickly beginning to realise is the only way this house keeps moving. Papa couldn't cope without her." Edith blinks a few times, standing stock still in the doorway, Mary was not quite how she usually was, Edith was beginning to think her sister had been replaced by a twin. Praising Mama was hardly her style. Mary grins. "I've surprised you?"

"Yes, I-"

"I'm not Mama, I never have been, never will be. When I realised some years back that she was what held us all together I panicked thinking I was destined to fail. I begun to take it out on her. And now, well, there's been a war, Richard came into my life, Mama almost died, so did Edward, it made me rethink things." Edith just raises her eyebrows and wanders to the bed, picking up some envelopes to Mary's left she's surprised to see the name stamped on the front.

"Are these for the wedding?"

"Yes, don't take them out of order-"

"Why are you inviting the Dascombe's, we haven't seen them in years?" She flicks through the pile a little further, not spying any names she really recognises. "In fact, why are you inviting half these people?" Mary digs her teeth into her lips and finally seems to come to a decision.

"This has to be a secret." And then, she starts explaining. Edith can't help but laugh occasionally and then shake her head from side to side.

"You're so incredibly mean, but brilliant." They laugh together before Edith starts writing the invitations for the list Mary has on her lap. "One question, won't Papa be angry, about the money."

"Oh no, Richard's promised to pay!" Mary chuckles at that and Edith smiles. They spend the rest of the afternoon sat on Mary's bed, plotting.


	15. July 1919

AN: Thank you for all the astounding reviews! Another long chapter again! Please tell me what you think.

* * *

 **July 1919.**

Cora could tell, even in her delirious state, as she tried to keep her eyes wide and thoughts of the relaxing sway of the boat far away, that Robert had drunk just a little too much. He stumbles slightly as he crosses the doorframe, his cheeks are red and his smile just a little too forced.

"Evening Robert." He nods his head, obviously not trying his voice enough for words. "I wanted to talk with you about Mary and Edith."

"Can we not do so in the morning. My head hurts."

"It will hurt more in the morning, as you well know." He grumbles but settles down next to her. He holds his arms open for her, and she shuffles into them. It was a rare occurrence, but Cora had known of the influence the sea tended to have on Robert. He got seasick in the calmest seas, years ago, when he'd taken her back to America as a first wed inn anniversary surprise he'd thrown up almost the entire way. It didn't often lead Robert to drink though, it was thoughts of Bates, she thought that was weighing him down. Ever since his visit a couple of months ago, a visit she'd never discussed with him, he didn't seem to be quite himself.

"Seeing Bates there upset you, didn't it?"

"Yes, yes...more than I realised when I was there-He, he saved me Cora. And I can't-" He doesn't carry on, for once in his life Robert is cut short by his own tears and Cora eases herself onto her elbow, smoothing his hair and kissing lightly at his cheek. It was something she'd done to Edward when he was little. Robert had cried in front of her before but he'd never seemed as vulnerable as he did now. "He gave me back everything Cora. You, the girls and I can't seem to repay that-"

"A true friend never needs repayment."

"He says I have. With the job and him meeting Anna but-"

"Sshh Robert, just try and sleep honey." They, or rather he lies, and she sits, in companionable silence for a few minutes, his tears easing as his head sinks further and further into the pillow, her eyes watching him.

"I know what you want to say about Mary. She needs to dump Richard. I think the best way to sort that is to spur Matthew into action. As for Edith, goodness knows why they're becoming so close." Cora shakes her head lightly from side to side as she chuckles.

"Sometimes I think you can read my mind."

"I can Cora. I can. Now, are you going to talk to Matthew, or shall I?"

"You're the man about the house." He chortles against her cheek, where his lips had come to rest when she'd allowed herself to fall back on to the pillows.

"Who says that?"

"Me."

"And how, my lady, do you know any such thing?"

"Because, you taught me not to be so much of a lady behind closed doors." He presses his lips to the curve of her neck, the tinge of alcohol on his breath makes her feel marginally dizzy and she curses herself, how old was she?

"I never taught you. I just allowed you to experiment." She turns her face to find his lips already waiting, his hand already curling over her left hip, pushing it to lie flat on the bed. His mouth tastes almost entirely of alcohol but it reminds her of days gone by, of honeymoon nights spent in Paris, late nights in London.

Some time later, in the darkness of their cabin, the gentle slosh of water somewhere far beneath them Cora's mind settles again and she turns in his arms.

"Do you think Sybil will be happy?" It was after all the reason they were on this ship, the reason Robert had been throwing up for the last two days. Sybil was getting married.

"Strangely enough, I think she will. My grandfather would have never thought it possible. But, well, I married an American, he never would have thought I'd be happy with her."

"And you are?" He doesn't answer straight away, other than to kiss her forehead, pulling her body still closer to his.

"Very." She lets him kiss her gently on the lips, the sting of alcohol tinging her own lips.

"You need some sleep, otherwise you'll be all grouchy in the morning." And Robert hungover was the one thing she found trying about him.

"Sybil, at this moment in time is going to be a hell of a lot happier than Mary, I know that." His hand runs through his hair, clearly unsure how he's going to cope with Sir Richard as a son-in-law. Not that Cora blamed him, she knew more of his character than Robert did, how on earth was she going to cope?

"That's hardly difficult. I must admit when she came to me and said she'd decided on December and that most invitations had already been sent I didn't know what to say."

"There's still time." But Cora doubted there was, Mary had it seemed made a decision.

"It would help if she wasn't so stubborn. So sure that it was the only way out."

"The only way out of what?" Cora gulps, should Robert be told? No, no, he really didn't have to know. None of it, not Pamuk, not what Richard had been saying about Edward, and certainly not on a boat, now was really not the time, goodness only knows what he might do.

"Only the Matthew thing. She loves him, we all know that, and when Lavinia was around she saw Richard as the way to have a life."

"But surely now Lavinia is gone-"

"Mary won't go back on her word it seems."

"We can only hope. And try not to panic too much in mean time. We have far more enjoyable things to be thinking of. Sybil for one." He rubs his hand over her back and she nestles closer, his lips press slightly at her head as she settles. "She's going to look beautiful." Cora nods beneath his chin.

"Thank you for letting us come. I wasn't sure you would." He chuckles.

"Some years ago, perhaps even back before you and Edward were ill I would have said no, but this is an important milestone for Sybil. We're her parents, and should be there with her. Of course, the fact Mama was adamant we weren't to come made me want to bring you so much more." She kisses his neck in a silent thanks, her eyes drifting shut.

She did worry, she was a mother, she always worried about her children. She was just thankful that Sybil seemed to be making an informed choice, Mary was panicking her. Edith was panicking her in a different way, was she ever going to settle? Cora partly blamed herself, she'd spent so many years focused on Mary she'd forgotten about Edith and even sometimes Sybil.

"You're worrying Cora, stop."

"How did you-"

"You sighed a little." He wraps his arms tighter around her back. A reassuring gesture. He used to do it when she was his fairly innocent bride, pulling her close when she couldn't look him in the eye. He was her constant, and that was something she was going to need to hold onto in the next few months.

* * *

Edith couldn't help be pleased with how plans were coming along for Mary's wedding. And now, with a couple of weeks to themselves without Richard always lurking around Edith was so hoping that Matthew might make a move. She'd become deeply invested in Mary's plan, and it did infuriate her slightly that she knew the main reason was for her own benefit, not really because she'd found anything more in common with her sister. By helping, she distracted herself. She stopped herself from feeling like a useless spare part, just as she had back before the war. She stopped feeling like the failed sister, the one with no romance; hers had come and flown away again. If she was honest she knew she wasn't passed it, my, she wondered if she ever would be. Patrick had made her feel wanted, needed. But she had never quite been able to pinpoint whether or not he had completed her. Her parents always spoke of how they fitted one another, not in a physical way, but as people. Edith wasn't quite sure she'd had that, they'd been more than friends most definitely, but she couldn't say that sparks had flown in the way they do between Mary and Matthew. She'd put it down to difference in circumstance before this point, Patrick had after all known he was dying, and so had she. Mary and Matthew had just seemed to always pick the wrong time, although the his time Edith rather hoped they would.

"What are you thinking so deeply about?" She turns to find her beaming younger sister. She was staying with them tonight, in the hotel rather than with Tom's mother: 'she's become rather a bore' Sybil had mumbled the day of their arrival, now just over a week ago. But tonight was tha last night they'd be truly sisters in the same sense that they had been before, after this Sybil was to be, as their Mama put it, the first to fly the nest.

"My life."

"Oh Edith, love will come again." Sybil hugs at her arm as they descend the stairs together into the formal dining room.

"It's not even that. I feel so hopeless sometimes."

"You helped with the soldiers and-"

"Yes, and I loved it. But now, now the war is over and everyone else seemed to be moving on around me and I'm, well, stuck."

"You'll find your calling, trust me on that. In the meantime I know you're helping Mary with her grand plan."

"She's told you?" Edith had thought it was meant to be a secret from as many people as possible, it seemed it was spreading far quicker than Edith thought was correct. The majority of people absolutely had to be deceived.

"It's alright. I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Will you come, to the wedding?"

"I don't expect so, I'll struggle to get the time of my nursing job and well, the cost of travelling over when really, let's be honest, I already know what's going to happen, seems pointless."

"I can't quite believe my little sister is going to have a job."

"You might have a job one day."

"Have you told Papa?"

"Not exactly, he thinks I'm doing lots of volunteer work."

"Yes...perhaps that's best. He didn't like Matthew being a solicitor." Sybil chuckles and then all falls slightly silent, between them. Edith shudders at the realisation that just a short few years ago life had seemed so much simpler.

"You will write?"

"Of course." Sybil squeezes her arm one last time before dancing over to her mother who talks in hushed tones to her in the corner of the atrium to the dining room leaving Edith feeling all of a spare part. Although, when she spies the blush on her sisters cheeks, and the embarrassment on her mother's, she's rather pleased she hadn't been part of the conversation.

Edith jumps with sudden excitement when two hands fall on her waist. She turns quickly, Edward's cheeky grin and dancing blonde curls hovering at her waist. He was dressed in his formal jacket, his white neck tie making him look three times as adorable he was anyway.

"I'm starving Edith, are we going through to dinner yet?"

"We're just waiting for Papa." Mary had arrived with Matthew and Edward and the pair had wandered over to Sybil, Matthew in tow, Edith couldn't help but smile. But it had left her with her youngest sibling who wasn't in the best frame of mind, he'd been rather upset as Mama and Papa had not walked out with them earlier that day. Cora hurries over to them, no doubt desperate to mend her fences with her stubborn son. Edward pulls a naughty face and crosses his arms pretending not to notice her.

"Edward darling. Mama is sorry but she needed a rest-"

"So why did Papa have to stay too?"

"He was worried I wasn't feeling too well." Edith has to purse her lips as her father comes down the stairs behind Edward and her mother, his finger on his lips, asking her to be silent.

"Then why on earth were you laughing when I walked passed your room when I got back?"

"Well, I-" Edith smiles to herself, hoping one day she'd be looking at her son with those tinged cheeks and stuttered words; trying so hard to hide the enjoyment of her naughty afternoon with her husband. The reality beneath the surface was perhaps a little less calm as she tries desperately to block her parents together from her mind.

"Your father, Edward, was desperate to make her feel more cheerful when her head was hurting, so he was making her laugh." Her father makes his presence known with his body as well as his words causing Edith to gulp as his hands come to rest on her mother's waist, his lips skimming over the corner of her ear, his nose taking a whiff of her perfume. He mumbles something far too close to her for anyone to hear apart from her mother, but she blushes. Oh, she blushes so very much. Edith closes her eyes, her head aching, how she wanted that. She turns away only to find Mary twiddling with her necklace as Matthew murmurs something, her sister looks down, abolishing him. She returns her attention to her parents, they were better she felt, with their touches and glances, blushes from her mother and raised eyebrows from her father, than watching both her sisters fine ultimate happiness.

* * *

Matthew knew he shouldn't. Not when she was engaged. But he had to know, he had to know if all those mornings she'd spent with him, planning the nursery and helping with a Grace over the last few months had just been Mary being overly obliging, or whether in fact she had noticed the things he had. Did she leave his home and feel isolated, alone, desperate for his presence again, as he had craved hers. Had she noticed the way he watched her when she held Grace. It was all so ridiculously simple, be thought, they were well suited unlike her and Sir Richard, who quite frankly was obviously threatening her.

Her room was two doors down from his, Edith was between them, it was now, or never. Edward was thankfully already asleep in the second bed in Matthew's room, the young man, as he liked to be called, refusing to share with either of his sisters. Robert and Cora would have taken him, but Matthew felt Edward thought he was passed the age where he needed to share with his parents, and let's be honest it was hardly an ideal situation for them, finally away from Downton, but not actually alone. Matthew had gallantly volunteered and all had been settled. He was rather pleased it had been after the confusion of the afternoon; Edward might not have fully understood the white lies of his parents about their afternoon whereabouts but Matthew had. It was that more than anything, that had made Matthew decide on this decision. He wanted the marriage Robert had, and he knew he could have that with Mary. He'd known that since long before he proposed before the war. He'd been content with Lavinia and yes, he had loved her, he certainly adored Grace, but it hadn't been a thoroughly happy relationship for him, the war had no doubt over shadowed them though. But, there was no point in dwelling on the war, or Lavinia too much any more. Both were the past. Mary was, he prayed, the future.

There is still light beneath her door which if nothing else had, makes Matthew stop and consider his actions. He was about to enter her room, and seal the fate of both of them; whether that be to shatter it, or finally complete something that should have started long ago.

He knocks softly and its only then, so distracted by the light as he had been, that he notices the other clue as to what Mary was doing, everything goes silent. The gentle hum of noise that he'd initially overlooked stops. The voices quietening. She was with her sisters, with Sybil, on the last night before she married, they were talking, catching up, remembering.

The door opens and Mary stands before him in her nightdress, her dressing gown hanging loosely on her shoulders. Anna had obviously braided her hair and it hung down her back. Her cheeks flush a little and she lets her gaze dart up and down the hall conscious of their position.

"I suppose you'd better come in." She open the door a little wider revealing his other two cousins sat on Mary's bed. Sybil raises her eyebrows a little as he appears over the threshold and he ties to ignore the way she touches Edith's arm. The latter immediately turning and glancing quickly between him and Mary, a smile curling at her mouth.

"I'll go, you ladies are busy." Edith slides from the bed, more conscious of her attire than either of her sisters, pulling her dressing gown across her.

"No, don't. Sybil and I will wait next door in my room, Mary can join us when you've finished talking to her." Edith seems sure of her decision and heads to the door, Sybil close at her heels. The latter pause at the door and turns to her eldest sister.

"Naturally Mary, if you'd rather not join Edith and I again I won't be at all bothered."

"Sybil!" Matthew isn't sure which sister says it louder, Edith or Mary. Edith finally pulls them both from the room leaving him alone with Mary.

"If you'd rather go back and join them-"

"No Matthew. You obviously have something to say." He doesn't hesitate. If he hesitates he knows he won't say it.

"Why marry him? You don't love him, we both know that, however much you might wish to deny it. Surely, there must be a way for you to break whatever it is that he holds over you."

"And what advantage is it for you if I break off with him?" He shakes his head from side to side, never taken in by her protective barrier.

"I'm a free man Mary, a free man very willing to marry you."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew-"

"I don't care Mary! Can't you see?"

"I think you'd care if you knew. I'm not what you think I am Matthew. I'm not the virtuous eldest daughter of an Earl." He watches her face crumble her hands ball, he takes a step forward. The word virtuous still ringing in his mind, so, there had been a man, somewhere, sometime.

"Sir Richard?"

"What?" She stares up at him quizzically, her brow crinkled.

"Was it Sir Richard that-that you..." He can't say it, he feels like an idiot, like Robert, it seemed he was more Mary's equal than he realised.

"No. No certainly you remember, before the war Kemal Pamuk?" Matthew only nods his head memories he'd tried to bury of being ignored, of standing with Evelyn Napier and feeling like a stuffed toy flash across his vision; memories he'd tried to hard to forget.

"And you weren't forced?"

"Matthew, you sound like my mother. And no, I made the choice."

"Did you love him?"

"Love Matthew? It was lust, I was young and naive, desperate to rebel against the rules I didn't realise were holding me back."

"And this is all Richard holds over you?" She gulps her legs moving her towards the bed. She perches on the bed.

"It was, originally, when we made the arrangement. If I'm honest I couldn't care less about that story now, not if you are willing to marry me despite it."

"Mary, I love you." She pauses only momentarily at his declaration, her head not really lifting. Matthew panics, she hadn't been moved by the words he knew, as he was, she was waiting for, the only explanation could be that whatever the other story Richard was threatening with was big enough for Mary to feel it was worth keeping quiet. Worth more than love.

"He was going to use my story to prove that Mama would be capable of similar things, of having, a lover as it were. And that, that Edward-"

"Isn't the heir." Matthew feels his own legs go weak, he stumbles somewhat to the chair at her dresser. It was a choice of love or love it seemed. Her brother or her lover.

"But surely, people know your parents, your mother-"

"Society will eat up any story. The ones that we think would support us will turn away, the small doubt, a memory of Mama and Papa fighting, in their minds forms their excuse."

"If you jilt him-" Matthew knew he was clutching at straws desperate to try and save Mary from a position that was impossible to escape.

"He'll sell the story anyway. There's only one way Matthew, you know that, I know that." He nods his head, his hand supporting the aching than beneath it.

"Tell me you love me." Matthew knows the tears are already on his cheeks, the adrenaline pounding, nerves racing. But he needn't have panicked. Her response comes immediately, choked with tears.

"I love you." He looks up then, to find her closer than he thought. She kneels down before him, her fingers brushing away the tears. He can't resist, not with her so near, the scent of her evening perfume still lingering on her skin, her hands on his cheeks, already cupping his face. He closes the gap, his lips finally resting where he knew they were supposed to rest. He own him of contentment enough of an assurance that was no need to stop. Not tonight. Not on the only night they might have the chance to.

* * *

Sybil couldn't have be any happier if she had written down everything she had wanted to happen in the three days that had encompassed her wedding, and those either side. Mary had progressed with Matthew, more than progressed actually; Edith had moved in with Edward worried about the young boy waking and finding Matthew gone and not wanting to disturb the couple if they thought they were being spied upon they'd panic.

The wedding had run equally smoothly, the small reception her parents had willingly paid for running still better in the hotel. And as a surprise gift her sisters had given her the keys to a room on the third floor, with a whisper of Tom being in the adjoining room- once again all paid for. Sybil did feel bad, particularly when she had hardly done what her parents expected of her. But she was so pleased that they had finally embraced Tom. Not fully perhaps, but enough for her to think she wasn't really losing them, not totally.

It was why she was padding down the corridor having left a note on the side in her room, their room, she supposed, just in case Tom woke and found her gone. But she thought now was the best time to thank her parents and relieve her mother's worries. She'd been more than uncommonly nervous about Sybil's first night as a married woman, perhaps remembering her own nerves from all those years ago. Sybil thought it was only fair to go and reassure her.

She approaches the door cautiously, her mind thinking over what she might say. She knew they'd be awake, her mother most certainly, worrying. As expected, an immediate 'come in' follows her knock and she finds her mother sat up in bed when she enters.

"Sybil, are you alright sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just a few aches in places." Her father grumbles and sits up, swinging his legs from the bed.

"I'll leave you two to talk." Sybil tries to stifle her giggle as her mother rolls her eyes.

"Ignore him. He's only upset his little girl isn't his little girl anymore. He enjoys it as much as any other man." Her own cheeks tinge to the same extent as her father's as he disappears into the bathroom, her mother grinning after him. Sybil wouldn't lie, she felt marginally uncomfortable, now that she had a first hand experience of what was involved, watching her parents be so direct with each other, particularly in their bedroom. Before, the looks and touches had always been reassuring and indeed she imagined they still would be outside of this room.

"Tom was happy? He stayed with you?"

"Yes and yes. It was just as you said it would be. Better really."

"Well, that's good. I found my first time quite pleasant although my mother had told me it would be horrendous. And believe me, even after a good start, if still gets better." Sybil flushes at that which seems to cause her mother to become nervous.

"I just wanted to reassure you Mama, you seemed so uptight after the reception yesterday." Her mother's knuckles brush over her cheek, something she'd done since Sybil had been a little girl. Somehow though, now, now that she felt grown up it wasn't quite the same, she didn't feel it was really her mother's comfort she wanted, it was the comfort of Tom. He was going to be her constant from now on, not her parents. "I'd better get back to Tom. He'll be worried if I'm gone too long."

"Goodbye then my darling." Those words sounded more final than even Sybil knew they were. She was going to write, to keep in contact, she wasn't about to never talk to her mother again. But she was a whole sea away, if would be some time before they saw each other again. Her mother's life might feel a little empty, Sybil realised, without her daughter at home, while Sybil herself was embarking on a life, a new life, with some excitement. For her mother therefore the separation was seeming final, she'd bought her where she'd imagined her daughter, happily married. Sybil now had to make her own way, just as her mother had.

"Don't worry Mama. I have a new life to negotiate, you're right, but I imagine I have a few less worries than you did. My mother-in-law may not be an angel but I've had plenty of practice with Granny already. And Tom will stand by me, he loves me: Papa hadn't made his mind up at this stage as to whether he loved you or not." Her mother chuckles at that.

"Every other part of him had made its mind up I can assure you." Sybil slips from the room, as her mother's gaze seems to drag her back to another time, determined to spend the last two hours she and Tom had in their plush hotel room to full effect.

* * *

Robert steadied his nerves in the bathroom, he couldn't enter the bedroom quite yet, he knew what Cora was going to say, he'd been listening, the bathroom hadn't been as soundproof as he had hoped. But her last remark had made him wonder, he'd always known it hadn't taken him an unprecedented amount of time to realise he did in fact love Cora, but the thought of it only having been his mind that was unsure, as early as the very beginning, troubled him. Why hadn't he noticed? Or, had be just refused to notice?

He slowly twists the doorknob, the silver cold against his sweaty palm. He curses himself, she was his wife, his wife of twenty-nine years, not his wife of a mere few hours, he was acting like he was entering his virgin brides bedroom. The door hasn't so much as clicked open, his whole body still firmly fixed on the wrong side of the door, before she speaks.

"That took you some time. Sybil left five minutes ago." He wanders to the bed, her gaze following him. "You're thinking, worrying?"

"Only about what I just heard you say. About everything but my heart being sold on you." He's climbs into the bed, her small frame immediately curling up beside him. They had some hours until dawn after all, and neither of them was going to be able to get back to sleep now.

"Well, you were very attentive, really. The intimate side of our marriage never particularly wavered and you were so careful with me, most men wouldn't have cared."

"Well, I'm not an animal." He feels her chuckle against his throat.

"I'm not so sure. I think you are, sometimes. It's quite nice sometimes, when you get all tetchy because other men are talking to me." It's his turn to chuckle.

"In other words, you like me when I'm jealous." She nips at his ear, and Robert hears his own sigh of her name. Her hands tug at his shirt and he lets his own lips drift to her neck as she slides her leg over his hip.

"I like you all the time. You know that." He lowers his lips to her shoulder, pushing her nightgown away.

"It's been a long time since we've done this in the morning." He chuckles at her little blush, pleased he can still make her cheeks shimmer.

"All the more reason." Her grin is wicked and Robert rubs at her hip, she obligingly rolls onto her back, her hands releasing the buttons of his shirt with perfected ease before they push up into his hair. It was a delicious sensation, feeling her nails on his scalp, her head tilting as she tries desperately to part his lips with her own. Her nightdress was a new one, with a cut that he was relieved Sybil hadn't been privy to.

It is dimly that he realises what their relationship had become of late, since the letter he had received from Jane he'd spent every waking minute with Cora, and many of the dark hours curled with her against him. They'd become much the newlywed couple they'd been all those years ago. He knew the habit would pass, they'd have less energy, would be less bothered with making love, after all they didn't need to in order to prove they loved each other, it was the smaller things that mattered really. But he did so enjoy holding her, knowing that he was the really special person in her life. Jane had shown him that, he'd been special to her and he'd not been able to return that, she accepted it, but it had still hurt her. Cora was his special person, and he hers, it was an important thing to remember that they always had each other.

It was the sudden stopping of her lips that first alerted him to a problem. Followed quickly by her glancing over his shoulder.

"Robert, I think-" But she was too late, the door had opened and their son was peeping his head around the doorframe. Robert falls into Cora as he drops to the mattress, pulling the bedding to his chin, Cora tugs at the bedding in the opposite direction, her leg swinging to kick him beneath the sheets. "Edward...what are you..." Cora must see his face at the same time Robert does, she struggles to sit up and cover herself.

"It was a dream..." He climbs onto the bed, sliding easily between his parents. He'd had bad dreams before but Robert could tell this was all together worse. "Richard came, and...and he hurt Mary, and it was my-my fault." He curls himself against Robert's side, Cora brushing at his hair. Her face tense, thinking, not looking at him.

"Edward, Richard has no reason to hurt Mary, and it wouldn't be your fault." He shakes his head.

"It would he calls me-"

"Don't worry about it Edward, um, let's get you back to sleep." It was Cora, her gaze still not meeting his own. She was hiding something.

"What does he call you Edward?"

"A bastard Papa. And he says it-" Robert doesn't wait to hear how he says it, he swings from the bed, reaching for his dressing gown. Mary was only down the corridor, he obviously needed to speak to her. Cora wasn't going to let on.

* * *

The port was crowded. But she could see him, he was watching, already zeroing in on her. She drops her gaze to the steps afraid he could see through her, but of course, he couldn't. He wouldn't know, he'd never have to know what had happened in Ireland with Matthew. Because, oh, so much has happened, so much that was going to make the next few months all worth while. To be able to see Matthew's face when the problem all sorted itself, it was a moment she could wait for. It was a moment she had dreamed of for longer than she even realised. But right now it was back to reality. And that reality was a wedding to plan and Richard to cope with. Oh yes, and the small fact of her father to keep calm. He'd come to her demanding facts the morning after Sybil's wedding. He'd been complaining about how Richard had been calling Edward a bastard and it was all awfully tense trying to tell her father to trust her, and to remind him to refrain from shooting her mother who had: 'obviously known about this some time.' But he seemed to have taken her advice that Richard had to think they were falling for his tricks and he should play along. She thankfully hadn't had to disclose her plan to make him agree.

Matthew on the other hand, that had been so much harder. Giving herself willing up to him but having to pretend it was a one of, something that could never happen again. It was impossible when's he so wanted it to happen again. But it had to stay at the once, they couldn't let themselves get caught. However much Matthew might pester to met her, she couldn't. Her whole plan relied on her staying out of trouble.

He takes her hand the minute she's down the gangway. Raising the gloved hand to his lips. She leans over and kisses his cheek, just no doubt exactly as he would like, sure enough she receives a smile.

"It seems the trip has done you good Mary. You appear more open to my way of doing things." Mary tries not to smirk, she was right, you had to play his game. That was the only way of beating him, his words, just like that, were never going to hurt her, after all two could play the same game, and she was.

"I was never closed to your ways, I just preferred my own. But-"

"I've taught you well, I can see. Let's just hope I can teach you well on all these other things." She doesn't reply, she can tell from the way he leans over her, his thumb stabbing into her back exactly what he means. As long as he demanded nothing before the wedding she wouldn't mind. "Did little Edward enjoy the trip? For all we know this father of his might be Irish. Perhaps your mother's been working around nationalities? Did you tell her of the Turkish?" Mary doesn't bother to reply, he was trying to rile her and she wasn't about to fall for it. Not when her plan was working so splendidly, Edward himself, the main part of the plan, had played his part perfectly. Her father wouldn't have ended up barging in on her that morning if Edward had been unconvincing, and the little lad still had months to practice.

"I hardly think your method of greeting me after a long journey is the most pleasant I've come across Richard. If you wish to talk about my mother's life, why not ask her?"

"I would if your father ever left her side."

"Which raises the question as to why on earth you think Edward is illegitimate."

"I never really said I was sure he was. What I do know is, it would make a good story, one that many of my readers and your family's supposed friends would believe."

"In other words, you like to blackmail me?"

"I like to protect you, as my fiancée from other men, who may wish to pry." She nods once, she'd sussed that then, his motivations were of possession, of being the greatest man, a personality trait that he linked directly to his papers. She could cope with that. All she had to do was humiliate him. Make him think he had caught her and then at the last minute escape. Escape with enough witnesses that he wouldn't dare publish. She had it all in hand.


	16. December 1919 l

AN: This is the big one! And the penultimate chapter! Please review, they've been a little lacking this week! Oh, and this is an early update because my Christmas Cobert Exchange story is up tomorrow! So look out for that too! X

* * *

 **December 1919.**

Robert took a deep breath, the eyes of the room still following him. He could see Bates in the back, either side of the two guards, he could see Anna waiting for him to continue on the same vain as he had before, about all Bates' wonders. He saw the judges wig slip slightly as he demands that the witness makes a statement. He could violate the court, after all he wasn't strictly a witness, he'd seen nothing. He'd had, it appeared just this one conversation, this one conversation that Bates had passed on. Robert briefly wondered why he had, did he not trust Robert so much that he thought he might have mentioned it, said evidence that Bates hadn't given, getting him into further trouble. Because he knew, oh how he knew, that this was the end. Mrs Hughes and O'Brien had given background information, snippets that might suggest anger or even violence. Robert's statement was to seal his fate. To end his life.

"He said that 'if only she was the former, or better still the late.'"

There's a hum of movement, of chairs being scraped back into place. Mary leaning over to comfort Anna. Robert steps down from the podium and leaves the room, he doesn't dare to look at Bates. By the time he's reached the door the room is deadly silent. The judge doesn't bother to call him back, which only seems to add to the stabbing in his head, it meant what he said had indeed been enough.

He stumbled somewhat as he walks his vision blurring in a way he can't seem to control. It's not until he reaches the atrium, the large door swinging open on the far wall that he realises his cheeks are wet, he was crying. In public. He takes a deep breath of the fresh air, dimly realising how tight his chest had become, how affected he had been by the claustrophobic atmosphere of the court, the tense thoughts that couldn't be heard but were somehow buzzing all around.

He couldn't deny that he had reasoned with himself before he came, he had told himself that this was indeed the likely outcome. Bates wasn't guilty but he would be found to be. He'd known that. And yet, he hadn't thought so much about what they might ask him, he'd forgotten, perhaps because his mind had wanted to forget what he'd now told, that he'd even be asked questions. He thought he just had to give a character witness. But no, he'd been called because he had crucial evidence. There was some advantages he supposed, Mrs Hughes and O'Brien might have been questioned more if he'd gone first, if they'd had that phrase earlier. He'd spared two people then. But not his friend. Not Bates. John.

His reaction, he was fully aware, was extreme. The verdict hadn't been given but he was crying, he was sat outside, on the steps leading up to the court, crying. It had been a climax of events he could see that now, as he tried to clear his head in the cold December breeze, his eyes still blurred from tears, he could see more clearly. A whole stack of things had been weighing in his mind: Mary's wedding; Richard's threats; the way Matthew seemed to be tiptoeing around Mary, immersed in grief over her wedding- which was pleasing Richard no end; Edward's fast approaching fifth birthday and all the stress that had come with finding him a suitable tutor. It had all seemed to climax with Bates trial.

It had all climaxed when Cora wasn't with him. She'd been steadying him, keeping him calm, reassuring him, looking out for him. So naturally when he needed her most she wasn't here. She hadn't wanted to come, and he couldn't blame her for that, but oh how he wished she was here. Sat beside him on the step, rubbing his back, running her fingers over his knuckles. He starts at the hand on his back.

"I thought you'd be outside." Isobel smooths her skirt as she sits down. "You know it wasn't your fault. Bates would have wanted you to say it."

"I don't think he would have wanted me to, but I think he realised he couldn't withhold the information just in case I remembered it."

"And you had."

"Subconsciously perhaps, but it wasn't until that point, standing before that horrible man that it came back into my conscious mind. Word for word. I'd locked it away, trying I suppose to forget. To pretend-" He can hear the tears beginning to form in his own voice, the saliva sticking to his mouth, choking him.

"Robert, why don't you go back to Downton. I'll come with you, we can leave Matthew and Mary to deal with Murray and Anna respectively."

"I want to apologise to Anna, I shouldn't-"

"She knows you had to say what you had to say. But we'll go back in, say goodbye and catch the three thirty. Um?" He can't fail her logic, not when Cora can meet them at the other end. He nods his head grimly, standing and sliding his fingers between his greying curls. Cora would always grab his hands when he did such a thing, and cheekily chastise him for being anxious. "I'll telephone the house, Cora might meet us at the station." It was that obvious then, that obvious to the likes of Isobel that he was in great need of some comfort, for someone to prop him up. He was in need of Cora.

* * *

It had already been one hell of a week, it was about to get a hell of a lot worse. There has been the trial which had left them all in a state of frustration, most of all Robert. And Mary's impending wedding was casting a shadow over almost everyone. Matthew most of all. Any moment he could catch with her alone was worth having, any moment when he could try and persuade her out of the wedding. He had hoped, all those months ago, the night they'd spent together might have been enough, but no, it appeared she was still set on marrying Richard. Matthew could understand it, he was battling against Edward who had taken over everyone's lives since the moment he'd been born. Matthew wanted to compete, for Mary, but he couldn't see Edward, Cora and Robert ruined in the process. The latter two had welcomed him with near open arms, extending their family circle for him, he couldn't jeopardise his family, and he couldn't force Mary.

The need to touch her overtakes him as they stand before the grave, his mother speaking a prayer. Reggie Swire had died, Matthew had been pleased Mary had agreed to spread his ashes on Lavinia's grave. She'd been a great part of both their lives, a friend, wife and the mother of his darling Grace. He'd wheeled his daughter with him in her pram, wrapped in dozens of blankets. Well, the intention had been for him to wheel her, but Mary had reached for the handles, as she did now as they turned to walk home.

It was watching her push Grace, her hand reaching forward occasionally to move a blanket that blocked her view of her face. The occasional murmur of her voice as she reassured his daughter. The whole scene pushed him over the edge. She was the only person he could imagine replacing Lavinia as Grace's mother.

"Mary, is there nothing I can say to try and make you rethink this wedding?"

"We've been through this Matthew, I'm bound."

"Not by love though."

"Do you love me Matthew?" She's paused, Grace wailing a little as the rocking of the pram stops.

"Of course-"

"So you trust me?" He nods along, failing to understand what this means, how it's relevant. "I promised you, in Ireland, that everything would work out, and it will."

"With Richard gone?"

"I can't promise that. I have a duty to Edward, to this family." He takes a gulp as Mary resumes pushing the pram, be felt just like he had that night in Ireland, it was now or never.

"I'll be your lover Mary."

"I wouldn't want you to, that's not the way I was brought up."

"Neither do I Mary. I want you as my wife but if that's not possible-" She pushes the pram quite aggressively up the path to the house. The gravel crunching in time to his heart as they walk.

"Trust me Matthew. Please, just trust me." He closes his mouth, because, well, he so wants to trust her, to believe that there's still some way for them to be together. But also because he knows an angry, stressed Mary is not a Mary to argue with.

* * *

Edith couldn't believe five years had gone by, five years that she could map so easily of his life. Five years that had raged the world with war had also been the first five years of Edward's life. He had been, for the whole family, a ray of sunshine, the little one who reminded them that the world did still have a purpose, that it wasn't, quite, all war. Hate. In a world of war, love somehow existed more solidly, Edward was a fine example. His fifth birthday though, that marked something that many of them wished to try and overlook, most obviously his parents. Edward was quickly becoming a 'big boy' as he liked to quip, and that brought with it decisions, mainly about education which Edith was sure was to result in some friction between her parents. Either way, time was precious.

"What would you like to do now Edward?" He opened his small smattering of gifts, looking pleasantly excited at all except his grandmothers, which had been a new silk white tie. He'd immediately exclaimed that it was very lovely, 'but most men wear black ties now Granny.' The whole episode had been priceless, he'd known exactly what he had said, a cheeky grin on his face while their mother pursed her lips, trying desperately not to let the giggle escape. Edith had turned to her sister, who much like her was beaming. Even their father was looking on in admiration, their mother's hand clutched in his own. Isobel had been the first to react with a loud 'bravo.'

"I want to go outside."

"It's starting to snow." It was Richard's angry voice off to one side, his tone very much inferring that the boy was an idiot. The tone could have equally been an annoyance at the weather though, he might not have even been listening to the conversation, his eyes having been trained in the window all day. His wedding was on Saturday, it was currently Thursday, and he'd been fussing about snow the entire time. Mary had also expressed her worry to Edith, an apprehension that the guests wouldn't be able to make it, she needed them there. But many were not willing to miss a big society wedding, or more likely curious to see the groom before the wedding and were arriving that evening.

Edward races to the window, seeing a thin layer of snow already coating the ground, larger flakes swirling magically. Then he turns away and Edith gets taken by surprise as he grabs her hand, followed by Mary's.

"Let's go play in the snow. Get your coats." He turns and spies his parents still sat reluctantly on the settee as pushes his sisters for the door. "Mama, Papa, come on. Otherwise you'll be the target for the snowballs first." Edith can't help but feel unusually contented at the turn of events. It had been so long since they had enjoyed some family time.

Running around in the snow a while later, having fallen to the ground a good few times (skirts really were a hindrance) she pauses for breath behind the tree. Safely out of sight from her family armed with missiles of snow. She peeks from behind the tree, watching as Mary makes a shot for Edward, whom promptly takes aim on his father, hitting him squarely in the face. Edith smiles to herself, her mother on the other hand rumbles into a chorus of giggles. Her hand coming up to cover her mouth as he raises his face to reveal flecks of snow sliding down his now rather soggy face. He glares at her and when she remains stifling her laughs his hand reaches for the snow, crumpling a load between his fingers. She's pleased Mary seems to have distracted Edward because she can see where this is going. The snow hits her mother firmly on the chest and she squeals, her husband already having reached her. He says something which Edith can't hear, but her mother seems to like it, gently reaching her hands up to wipe some water from his cheeks.

The kiss was quick, very quick, but not quite fast enough that Edith doesn't see it. She swallows back the feeling of loneliness and drags herself back to the game, this was Edward's day, it was time she started enjoying herself again.

* * *

Cora fingers tremble somewhat over the letter, they always did, but this time more than most she shakes as she pushes it between the pages of her book. She wanted to put it down to anything but what it was actually about: the wedding. Mary's wedding, to Richard that was planned for the following day. She'd just about brought herself around to the fact that it was definitely going to happen and then she'd opened that letter and read a paragraph of perplexing sentences written by her youngest daughter, all seeming to suggest the wedding wasn't going to happen. Cora had re-read the section twice, at first thinking she was mistaken, that Sybil was trying to tease her, or had just expressed her worries for Mary in an odd way but after a second and then a third read, she'd begun to doubt that. Sybil never minced words, she would write what she meant. Cora could only secretly hope that Sybil knew something she herself didn't, although if she was honest she thought it was a bit to late to try and find a feasible excuse for dropping the whole thing. Sir Richard would publish, probably in worse terms than he would have done anyway if Mary dropped he deal now. Cora knew Mary wouldn't take the risk. Not with Edward's future quite possibly on the line as well.

"Something the matter?" She hadn't even heard him some in. But alas, there he was tossing his dressing gown to the chair, the top three buttons of his shirt undone revealing a great deal more flesh than his mother would have deemed appropriate. Cora cocks her head to the side, relaxing a little into the headboard.

"No, no. No more than usual anyway." He sighs, immediately seeming to find her thoughts.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we put on a brave face and do our best to support Mary." There was no need to tell him of Sybil's letter, go give him false hope, they'd all secretly hoped Mary would have braved the storm and got rid of him by now, but no, she seemed set on preserving the family's honour.

He slouches against the headboard by her side and he turns quite deliberately, looking at him, tracing the lines on his face, the greying of his hair with her eyes. She'd never noticed before, just how much the both of them had really aged. Edward had seemed to freeze the process, in her mind at least, and that supposed unchanging state had taken residence in her heart. But Edward had now reached his first big milestone, as had Sybil; Mary was about to. And suddenly, Cora felt old, and looking at Robert she realised he looked more frail. More like his father. My, he was still attractive, could still pull off the boyish grin she liked so much, could still make her feel things she never thought she was allowed to understand. She still loved him. She loved him more if anything, for letting her see this side of him, the fragile side, the side that wasn't perfect. She felt special, he made her feel special and she dearly hoped she had the same affect on him.

"Do I make you feel special Robert?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you make me feel so, and I wondered. I wondered if-"

"Cora," he reaches his hand forward, his fingers rubbing gently over his knuckles, before turning her hand over and tracing the lines on her palm, finally slipping his fingers between hers, holding her tightly. "If by special you mean that I realise I am the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife, to be able to wake up with you beside me then yes I realise. But, if by special you mean that you personally make me feel like the most important man alive, when in fact I'm far from it, then yes my darling, I feel that still more." She doesn't say anything, she doesn't want to spoil the moment, not a rare snapshot of Robert discussing his deepest thoughts. Instead she slips a little further into the bed, resting her head against his side, their fingers still firmly intertwined.

* * *

Mary would like to pretend it hadn't come to this, that it hadn't come to stooping so impossibly low. But it had, although she realised she was only trying something so drastic because they'd got so low already. They were engaged because he'd stooped so low and she been taken in. She wasn't anymore. Unfortunately this was her brothers future on the line, she wouldn't get away with just telling him to go. She wasn't going to get away with just jilting him. Not _just_ jilting him anyway.

"If there is any reason why these two people should not be lawfully married please speak now, or forever hold your peace." She hears the stir, she breaths a quiet sigh of relief. Richard snaps his head around. The vicar lifts his eyes, not having expected a declaration. Mary turns, she had to play her part, Sir Richard had to think she was still on his side and at the same time Edward, her objector needed her help.

"What on earth are you doing?" It's Richard's voice echoing too loudly in the silent church. He takes a threatening step towards Edward, who stands firm his eyes locking with Mary. She lifts her veil, his signal.

"I'm doing what is right. I might only be little Sir Richard but I know grabbing Mary's wrists and pushing her against pillars is not how you should treat a woman. And certainly not a woman whom you want to marry."

"Lady Grantham, can you get this child of yours under some control?" His voice booms, his face red with anger. Mary's about to give a second signal for Edward to continue. But he doesn't need it. He knows what he's doing.

"Don't move Mama." Mary watches as Cora drops back into her seat. "It's not my only objection to the union. This man," he's turned his back on Richard, facing the congregation, trying to get them on side. "Has threatening Mary since the moment they met. She either marries him or Sir Richard prints in the paper a story, about me." There's a stirring of movement, of whispers. Mary holds her breath, the evidence was in his pocket.

"Yes, about your parentage, about your mother and her ways her-"

"Sir Richard, I ask that you let Lord Downton continue." It was the vicar, stepping around in front of his post. Edward turns to him, the photo in his hand.

"This is a picture of my father as a boy, he looks, as you can see just like me." The vicar nods, "yet this man behind you claims I am only my mother's son. He's blackmailed my sister. Threatening to write about this in the paper and ruin the family." The hum that runs through the congregation makes Mary smile inside. Mary takes takes two steps towards the aisle, towards her family.

The pain rips at her waist, she screams out. She certainly expected him to threaten her, but not to push her headlong into the pew. The water on her face is tears of pain, and joy. There was a joy there somewhere. Because oh, it was so nice so lovely to see him walking away from her, walking down the aisle, half the important families of the country watching him go. She staggers to her feet, someone supporting her from behind. Richard stops at the door, his menacing grin turning to her.

"You might have killed any chance of me publishing about your brother but I still have your story."

"Yes, and your rival publisher has this one which I'm sure will be far more exciting!" Andrew Jackson stands from his back row seat and pushes passed Sir Richard for the door. He lets him go thank goodness. His annoyance seemingly still fixed firmly on her.

Not that she really notices, she's far too aware of the hands on her waist, she'd thought they were her mother's or Isobel's. But no, it was Matthew's strong grip that were holding her upright. That were keeping her from falling. Protecting her.

"Is this what you've been planning this whole time?" His voice is nearer her neck than her parents would deem appropriate. "To jilt him in this, dare I say, exceedingly harsh manner."

"I didn't have a choice, there had to be enough witnesses to protect Edward. He can have my story, but he can't blackmail Edward's name, not to any great effect anyway. Not now."

"You never cease to amaze me." She blushes, she knows she does.

"Well we've got years ahead of us for me to try."


	17. December 1919 ll

AN: So, this is the final chapter. Thank you so much for all the wonderful support I've been overcome with how much everyone has enjoyed this particularly as it was very much new territory, writing wise, for me. Please tell me what you think about this last chapter and the ending I have created.

There are a few references to the prequel in this chapter, including its title! I wanted to link it with the idea that had first sparked this sequel.

I hope you're all eager for my next project (you really don't have to read it!), which is again, a new style for me. It's a Modern story I've had in the pipelines for a while which I've now decided will have a sequel. It should be up mid January latest, hopefully before but my Christmas Exchange story rather took my time!

Anyway, thank you all again! Enjoy!

* * *

 **December 1919.**

Sybil twisted against the pain. She'd fallen into him the other night and obviously he had done the same to her last night. She was already having a certain difficulty sleeping; the closeness of the weather in their small house and the more pressing issue of how to break her news to Tom was keeping her awake well into the night.

She pads to the bathroom feeling the ache in her stomach already heading for her throat. She makes it just in time.

"Are you alright?" She almost swears under her breath, but she was a lady, somewhere, somewhere long buried. She couldn't quite manage it, even in this moment when she was thinking it so hard. She only debates for a few seconds, she's needed to tell him, now was as good a time as any.

"Yes. Yes Tom, I'm perfectly fine." She swivels from the sink, running the tap to drain away last nights dinner. She stops momentarily as she sees him stood there, one hand resting on the doorframe, his eyes searching her face for marks that might hide beneath the surface. "We should-" she gestures passed him, to the abandoned bed and he promptly walks back to it. He looks as baffled as she feels, she didn't realise it would be this difficult. She was so happy, he would be delighted and yet, something was holding her back. Not that it could hold her back anymore, not with Tom staring emploringly at her. "I'm pregnant. Or at least, I'm ninety-nine percent sure I am."

His face is quite frankly a picture, a picture of joy, for which she sighs inwardly. He stands from his sitting position, his hand gracing gently over her abdomen, little tears dancing in the corners of his eyes.

"Really?" She only nods, unsure of her own voice. "I can't quite believe it. Not this soon. I mean, I'm so happy but quite shocked."

"I was too. Not that I'm far along, just over a month, roughly."

"How long have you known? How long have you been being sick without telling me? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I haven't been being ill long. Just the last few days really. I have known for about three weeks and I've been meaning to tell you, but, I don't know, it sounds ridiculous to say that the right moment never arose, but that was truly how it was. And to be honest I thought that I might well, lose it, and indeed I still might, so you can't tell anyone. But, yes, I wanted to get used to it myself. I, I'm sorry. I shook have said." He shakes his head as he tilts her chin back up so their eyes can meet.

"I honestly don't mind you having not told me. I understand. There's a lot to think about before you wanted to get my hopes up. But, well, we can celebrate now." He presses his lips to her cheek, before she eases her arms around his neck, delighted, oh, so over the moon that he was pleased.

"I do want to write to Mama. Now I've told you."

"Of course. I'm sure your father will be delighted at the thought of being a grandfather." Sybil giggles against his cheek.

"Yes, and Edward an Uncle. Can you believe it?"

"Your brother will make for a superb uncle." Sybil can't help but agree to that.

"Time for some celebration I think?" She lifts her face from the comfortable position it had found upon his chest and kisses him. This was her favourite part of married life, being able to kiss the person most dear to her whenever she wished.

* * *

Mary couldn't quite believe, no she couldn't believe at all that after so many months of heartbreak. After so many months of Sir Richard she was finally sealing the future she wanted. Matthew was at her feet in the snow and she felt ecstatic. More than ecstatic really.

"Yes." That was all it needed. One word and her fate, their fate, as well as little Grace's was sealed. It makes her want to laugh at her arrangement with Richard, lengthy discussions as she tired to bargain for more room, more compromise.

"I love you Mary. Oh, how I love you." He whispers it into her hair as he supports her. This was what he wanted, Lord this was what he had wanted for years. But most of all in the last few months, watching her throw her life at Richard had been more than demoralising, it had slowly eaten away at him. He'd never known her plan and my lord, he'd almost stood up himself in that church. He'd been a millisecond behind Edward. Lavinia had given him a wonderful love, an amazing child but he was quite obviously his past now, never to be forgotten but never again to be seen. He had a life to live with Mary now. It didn't hurt him, moving passed Lavinia he felt truly that this was what she had wanted. She'd been right about Richard and about Mary being a good mother for their Grace.

"Me too Matthew. Me too." It wasn't difficult to know where their embrace was going next. Memories of their night together in Ireland were still very much fresh in her mind and she didn't doubt they remained fresh in his. Her lips seem to seal her very thoughts, enclosing around his in a promise. He breaks their contact too soon for her reckoning, his hands releasing her from his hold.

"You'll get cold." Her hands on his cheeks had alerted him to the chill of her skin. He takes that hand now, pulls her from the torrenting snow storm, the inviting warmth of the library fire already penetrating his body as he steps over the threshold. She shivers.

"I wasn't feeling cold you know." He chuckles as he turns to her, surprised to find her face deadly serious. "You were keeping me warm."

She blushes as she says it, she's sure. It was a phrase she'd heard her mother whisper to her father once. It had been the middle of the Autumn when her parents had struggled outside with her and her sisters. They'd enjoyed a picnic and she and Edith had run around a great deal: Sybil was still tiny at the time, a crying baby in a pram. Sybil must have fallen to sleep at some point, leaving her parents quietly sat closer than propriety would allow, Mary had overheard them whispering to each other as she hid behind a nearly tree waiting for Edith to 'seek' her. Looking back on it now, Mary realised there was more significance to the event than she'd realised at four. It was the first time since Sybil's birth that her mother had stepped out of doors. Sybil had been three months old at the time. Maybe that had been why it had stuck in her child mind- her father had still worried for her mother despite the fact, as Granny used to exclaim every day, that 'Cora has failed in her duty Robert, still no heir, nor likely to be one after that birth.' It was the first time Mary truly realised there was something peculiar about her parents marriage, a good peculiar, but different none the less. She'd wanted that then, she might have almost lost her way, but she wanted that now too.

"Let's hope I can always keep you warm." It felt more dangerous than that night in Ireland when he'd tiptoed down the corridor to see her. He thought it was probably the fact they were at home, anyone might appear at any moment and encroach upon their private time. He pours a glass of port from the decanter left on the table, handing another to her.

"I'm somewhat surprised it took you three days to get to this point." She glances up at him expectedly as he falls into the settee beside her, his hand reaching around her back. It was something she had wondered about, why after Richard's grand departure it had taken Matthew three whole days to finally propose. He chuckles.

"I didn't want you to know when it was coming. I wanted to keep you on your toes, and, well finding a moment alone in this house is rather tricky." She chuckles at that, just when you got rid of someone, usually her father, who was awfully good at hovering, Edward usually appeared, and nobody could turn him down. "You're happy?"

He's dropped his hand to her waist, pressing his fingers through her dress. She knows he's trying to get her to lean into him, but she can't because the chance of wanting to disentangle herself from his arms once she get there is very small and that could lead to things that they really couldn't risk.

"Very happy Matthew. Over the moon in fact."

"You'll let me kiss you again then?" She blushes at his insinuation but let's him push her gently back into the arm of the settee. She couldn't resist him, not really.

"We can't make a habit of this."

"No. But one night isn't a habit Mary."

"I'm not sure my parents would agree." She lets him kiss her anyway, his tongue pressing at mouth, pursing her lips open. Not that it lasts long, he seems to have taken her hint, or perhaps he also knew deep down that it was the wrong path to take, that they'd be better waiting.

"Shall we go and dance, in the snow?" He doesn't want to force her she obviously felt it was the wrong thing to do, he was willing to honour that, but he wasn't about to go to bed and cut their evening short. She was his fiancée now, he wanted to make the most of their time together before his mother and her parents jumped on the back of the wedding horse.

"Dance?"

"Yes, I will hum a waltz and hold you in my arms." She chuckles as his lips turn up into a boyish smirk, his fingers circling on her knee. He leads the way back out into the winter storm, his hands securing themselves on her body, his lips dropping close to her ear as he hums gently. She takes a steadying breath, swallowing back the tears that want to fall in pure joy. This she realised was all she had ever wanted, all she ever needed: to be loved and to love. The title, the house, meant nothing, not without love, a companion. Not without Matthew.

* * *

Edith wandered somewhat aimlessly to her drawer after Madge left. Her book had moved from its normal rest on her side table and she hoped she'd find it slipped into the drawer. It had been a long day, the anticipation of waiting for Matthew to propose to Mary eating away at every member of the family. No one could work out if they were keeping their secret or whether he'd actually proposed at all, and nobody dared ask in case they made the pair embarrassed. It had all been mighty awkward and Edith had vanished soon after her parents, not wanting to intrude upon the pair of them. Edith had been more than pleased by the show at the wedding, Edward had performed better than they'd even thought he would and the reverend had fallen into the charade without having to be told. The price had been little, Mary's scandal had hit the paper but not the made up story about Edward. The majority of papers had been far more interested in 'Carlisle beaten by his lady.'

The drawer was one that always reminded meticulously arranged so Edith immediately panics when she finds her book stuffed roughly at the back, her writing paper fanned across the front of the drawer. Someone had been in there. She quickly fumbles through the mess searching for the selection of precious items she keeps in there, when all are found she starts to rearrange the contents. Still mystified as to who had been to her things her hand falls on a rough piece of paper she doesn't recognise. It's folded around a thicker envelope, the writing on which she does recognise.

Patrick.

Her heart seems to stutter with the mere thought of his name and she falls to the bed; letter still clutched between her fingers. She folds open the attached note which contains only a hurried scribble of apology. It seems Daisy had forgotten about the letter she had been entrusted with until now, months after Patrick's death she had remembered to give it to whom he had asked her to months before: a whole two months before he'd actually passed away. It seemed more than a little surreal to be receiving a letter from a dead man. A man she was trying so desperately to keep from her thoughts. Not because she didn't want to remember him, she knew she would soon, but not yet, at the moment the memories were painful, raw.

It didn't stop her from breaking the seal on the envelope though, her subconscious mind desperate for answers; loving phrases, anything to stop it from having to admit Patrick was gone.

 _Dearest Edith,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well, and not pining too much for the man who doesn't deserve you._

 _You've left me at this moment, allowing me time to write. I pressed you to go out this afternoon and now I fear I regret it, I miss you greatly. But I figure it's a small price to pay for the happiness and comfort you've given me, and an extremely small price compared to what you will have to live with._

 _I hope this letter brings you some reprieve, some completion to your worries. I returned for you, to tell you that I loved you and the months we have had together have been the brightest of my days. I don't think I could have remained so calm and content in my illness so far if you hadn't been beside me. Let's hope the last months of my life will be as pleasant._

 _There's little else to say, if God had granted me a longer life we would be planning a wedding now. But, alas, he has not. So, instead I'm left to pray that you find the happiness you deserve with a man who will care for you and love you in a way I can not._

 _All my love,_

 _Patrick._

It was simple. Short and simple. But it conveyed all Edith needed it to convey. It had allowed her an element of completion most certainly. The tears spill on her cheeks and she quickly folds the ink away, not wishing to smudge it. It falls into the drawer beside the photograph of her and her siblings at Sybil's wedding. The snow swirls lightly to the ground beyond her window and she wanders to the glass, the snow soothing her aching thoughts, and her thumping heart and managing to slow her thick tears.

She spots the red of the dress first, then the browns and blacks that make up the profile of the man kneeling before her sister, finally proposing. She smiles, surprising herself. She never thought that she'd be happy to see Mary celebrating when she herself was left alone. But, Patrick had changed her, made her appreciate life and it's gifts, whether you liked them all or not, in a very different light.

* * *

Robert found her sat amongst the pillows, her dark hair fanned behind her. She was staring, her mind as far away as her eyes were trying to focus. She was deep in thought.

She notices him come in, she senses him but she can't seem to break her gaze, her thoughts from her images that flashed before her. Pictures of the last five years seemed to encompass her whole being.

"You're thinking?" His statement was meant to startle her quite as much as it does. He'd waited, removed his gown, untied his shoes and slipped into bed without a peep of acknowledgement from her, it had become disconcerting.

"Yes. About the last five years. How lucky we've been."

"Well, there was William and Matthew was injured. Lavinia-"

"There's been Edward too." That's what she'd thought of really, her baby boy desperately trying to find his place in the world, struggling to fathom the society in which he lived. She's surprised Robert chuckles.

"Well, you have nobody but myself to thank for that little miracle." He watches her glance at him, her eyes narrowing, her face shaking: she'd spotted his teasing then.

"You, Robert Joseph Crawley, are one very naughty man." She can't help shuffling into the bed and inching her body closer to his, her hand dusting lightly over his inner thigh as she moves herself. Two could play his game of seduction.

"No, I was just trying to remind you that if I hadn't been so irresistible you would have had difficulty fulfilling those desires of yours. And truthfully if I'd been any less open to the idea of-"

"Robert, I know what you're trying to say. But that doesn't change the fact that Edward is a darling. He was an easy baby and everyone he's met just takes to him."

"That's because he's very like his mother." He reaches for the hand of hers that seems content to rub at his thigh, he knew the game they were playing, he wasn't going to let her win that easily. He places a kiss on the palm of her hand, his lips snaking gently over the gentle throb of her pulse at her wrist.

"Are you flirting with me?" She doesn't really need to ask that question, she knows, oh she knows how he's going to play with her. She also knows that she's likely to succumb to him far more quickly than he will to her, he was a stubborn beast when he wanted to be, she was already toppling slowly over the edge, his lips too much of a delight in the slow sensuous patterns he was using.

"I might be. And you seem to be enjoying it." His lips come to rest on her shoulder, pushing the silk aside. He grins against her skin when he feels her shift her weight beneath him, her hand clamouring for contact beneath his shirt.

"I'm entitled to enjoy it, you're my husband and it's not often you're so direct, I have to relish you like this." She smiles when he whimpers at her touch his lips briefly stilling their attentions.

"This nightdress is new?" He been fumbling for at least a minute for the buttons he usually found down her back.

"Yes." She was pleased he'd noticed. It was indeed new, very new. "A Christmas gift for you." Her smirk appears as his lips still, his hand reaching into his hair- the usual measure of anxiety.

"Cora, I've told you before, you don't have to try and tempt me. It's nice sometimes I admit to change things about. But I'd want you anyway. I love you. Edward didn't come into this world because you tempted me one night with a set of new lingerie. He was born from how much we love each other." He sees the tears, the little flecks of her being slipping onto her cheeks. He catches them as best he can as she slips her arms tightly around his neck, her lips prizing his open. Her breath seems to run out first, her bright wet eyes opening to find his. He drops a small kiss to her cheek before shifting her body so he can get his arms around her.

"I love you too. But," she tilts her face up from his chest, "I didn't spend good money on this nightdress to get no fun out of it."

"Just fun? I thought some terrific fun might be in order?" She blushes a delightful pink and he grins as she tries to scowl slightly. It was enjoyable teasing her, watching her cheeks redden and her eyes drop from his. It did amuse him, that after all these years, and four children that when he was direct she was embarrassed and felt marginally self conscious.

"You're very naughty." She buries her face in the crook of his neck as he eases her onto her back. It was odd, she thought many of the things he was now saying, she was sure he thought them but it was beyond rare that they would ever say them, he'd been brought up in a way that forbade the vulgarity and Cora had often thought Robert would find her wanting. It hadn't been until late in their first year of marriage that Robert had realised she was keeping some thoughts locked away from him and persuaded her to open up.

"No more naughty than you wish me to be. I'm only trying to fulfil your wishes. Your wish is my command remember?" She wiggles her leg between his own, pressing her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head. Quite frankly she was rather in need of him getting on with it, his flattery was lovely but it wasn't helping calm the pressure in her abdomen.

"Um, and my wish at this moment is that you kiss me." He readily indulges her, his hand slipping to the soft skin he knows he'll find beneath her nightdress. She murmurs indulgently into his mouth, her hands slowly raking at his chest. It was a calming sensation feeling the tufts of hair running through her cold fingers, her fingers were always, even in the middle of summer, chilled. But it made for a strangely satisfying sensation when they warmed slightly on his skin.

"Am I allowed to make a wish?" She wants to groan at his disruption to their kisses. But when his hands clasp her waist and he roles onto his back, leaving her exposed above him, his hands swiftly removing her nightgown, she can't help but feel honoured to have such a man as her own. A man so willing to encompass her into his life.

"Uhmm," she presses a kiss to his throat, and then his collarbone obviously annoyed at his interruption. In truth he enjoyed this most, caressing her slowly, loving her as she deserved.

"Every day. I want to tell you, somehow, whether I kiss you, or hug you, say something...anything. I just want you to know that I do appreciate you Cora, and the life we've built together. And if I forget, you can remind me." She kisses the underside of his chin in a acknowledgement, her fingers twisting into his hair.

"You don't have to, I know that you appreciate me. I do. Sometimes you forget. But not often. Having you here is all I need. You've given me far more than I ever imagined any husband could." It was true, he quite honestly had, she'd been a nervous bride: he'd put her at ease. She'd worried over his mother; he'd protected her, mostly. She'd often felt she was a bad mother, that the girls didn't respect her; he made them realise she was lovely. She'd thought she didn't please him in the beginning; he'd assured her many a time that she was totally wrong. He'd never cast her worries aside as insignificant to him, and that meant the absolute world to her. They were equals. Lovers. Friends. Equals.

* * *

Edward looks up before him at the great house that had been his home for five years. The home that he was to rule over one day. He was beginning to realise how many people relied on his father. This house. The trips to the farmers houses he knew weren't for nothing, his father was preparing him.

He shouldn't be outside, not at this time of night, but he hadn't been able to help it, when he had seen the snow from his window he'd ran down and had now vowed to do a circuit of the gravel before bed. To walk the well trodden path of those men he saw pictures of in the halls. The men that had once been boys like him with a destiny to fulfil. His Mama told him not to worry. But he did.

He turns the corner of the last side of he house and stops. The shadows of two figures catching in the moonlight. He wants to jump up and down on the pathway when he identifies the two figures: Mary and Matthew. It seemed his helping at the wedding had finally brought them together. He keeps his feet still, not wanting to catch their attention. He skips joyfully back in the main door of the house, taking the red carpeted stairs two at a time as he races to his parents room.

He stops outside the door, the etiquette his grandmother had seemed to ground into him, despite having rarely been with him in comparison to his other relations, takes a hold of him, and he knocks. When no reply comes he puts his ear gently to the door, hearing muffled voices inside he twists the metal knob and enters.

His parents are curled together in the bed, both their backs to him. His Papa seems to be kissing his mother's shoulder, which he dimly realises is bare, his brow crumbles. He almost turns back around and slips silently out of the door, but his father murmurs something and his mother chuckles, twisting her face around to kiss him. He smiles, as an old memory comes to mind, him sat in a the nursery with bricks around him, Mama had been there, playing and then Papa had arrived and they had kissed then, curled up either side of him on the floor and he'd banged his bricks and told them: 'No kiss kiss, pway.' It was comforting Edward found to know his parents were still as they had been. He'd changed but they had remained.

"Oh, Edward?" It was his Mama shattering him from the blurred past. "What are you doing here?" He tries not to look too confused when she pulls her bedclothes to her chin and begins scrambling beneath them, her hand reappearing a moment later with what Edward realised was her nightgown-why on earth didn't she have it on? It was the middle of winter, and snowing outside!

"I came to tell you that Mary and Matthew are dancing, outside, in the snow, beneath your window." He races to the curtains and pushes them aside, feeling the excitement he'd felt about Christmas morning just a few days ago welling up inside. He presses his palms to the glass, and then his nose, desperate to see if he can see Mary's red dress below. He can, but only just. He parts the curtains frantically, skipping to the window the other side of his mother's dresser. Sure enough from that window he sees a little better the way they twist and twirl together, against the snow.

The pressure on his shoulder makes him turn his face upwards, finding his parents either side of him he snuggles himself against his mother's hip. His father's hand falls into his curls, pushing them out of line. Edward watches as they observe the scene below then for a moment before his father leans over and kisses Mama's cheek, his body pressed between theirs.

"I love you Mama, and you Papa. And Mary, Edith and Sybil. Tom and Matthew as well I suppose. But I love you most Mama, because you're pretty, clever and hug me nicely. And I love you Papa because you teach me things, and you look after Mama." His father chuckles and his mother runs her finger over his cheek.

"We love you to Edward. You'll always be our little miracle."


End file.
